


Synthetic Bonds

by mypetelephant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Arranged Marriage, Drapple, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 116,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mypetelephant/pseuds/mypetelephant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has always been the golden boy of Malfoy Corporation, earning the respect of Lucius and the resentment of his high school rival, Draco. But Lucius has a business proposal that involves Harry becoming a Malfoy..by marrying Draco. </p>
<p>Non-magic AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> General warning: This is a non-magic AU. It's set ambiguously in the US because this is my first story, and I was afraid of getting all the little details wrong.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters.

If the class went on any longer, Draco decided, he was going to personally beg his father to fire the professor. The professor had been droning on, and Draco had been forced to resort to picking specks of lint off of his shirt to stay awake. He was running out of lint though. Around him, students were nodding off or immersed in daydreams. Fortunately for everyone, an undergrad who definitely wasn’t in the class opened the door abruptly. Three seconds of a quick scan of the room alerted the fresh-faced youngster to the fact that he had just intruded upon a room filled with weary graduate students staring sadly at a board of equations that terrified him. A crowd of fellow freshmen looked over his shoulder, trying to figure out whether or not the class they were expecting was happening without them. 

While the accidental leader of their pack mumbled a quick apology and tried to shut the door quietly, he could did nothing to hide the loud noise of the crowd outside. In the end, the whole commotion proved a blessing. The loud noises seemed to have reminded the professor that he wasn’t entitled to an infinite time slot to deliver his lecture. As soon as the lecture was ended, Draco rushed to pack his things and leave the classroom. Arriving at his desk in the office he shared with five other students, Draco threw his backpack onto the desk and collapsed into the chair.

“Did Professor Johnston go over time again?” Draco turned around to see a bushy haired woman leaning against the doorframe and smiling knowingly at him.

“Always. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.”

“I told you that you should’ve taken synthesis last year. Zhang was a much better teacher.”

Draco shot Hermione an exasperated look. “I had other classes I needed to take. And besides, didn’t he assign you problem sets that had everyone up until five am?”

“Oh, they weren’t that bad.” 

“Maybe for you. Everyone else seemed like they were on the verge of tears.” Hermione looked like she was about to give a lengthy explanation about why everyone else had done so badly, so Draco cut her off by asking about her latest set of experiments. True to form, Hermione launched into a lengthy diatribe about the most recent challenges she had faced. She was just getting to her usual “ask a lot of scary questions” segment when Draco’s phone had the decency to ring.

“Er, sorry, Hermione. That…uh…that sounds like a good plan though…with the reagents and….,” Draco responded distractedly as he sorted through his phone’s buttons to get to what was apparently a text message from his mother.

“harry potter back. party for him tonight. please be there.”

Draco looked up. “Potter’s back?”

Hermione gave him a surprised look. “Oh, well yeah. He just got back yesterday. Didn’t you know he was coming?”

“No, actually I didn’t. My mom just texted me to tell me.”

“Oh…sorry, I figured you just didn’t care or something.”

“I don’t care,” Draco stated defensively, “I just don’t get why he’s back and why mom is telling me about it.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort, he’s not sure why he’s back either.”

“You’ve talked to him?” Draco shot her an almost betrayed look.

Hermione ignored his blatant attempt to guilt her. “Well of course I’ve talked to him. I haven’t gotten to see him yet though.” Draco narrowed his eyes at this and looked away. “Oh, come on, Draco. Just because he’s in another country doesn’t mean that he and I aren’t going to stop being friends. He’s practically my brother.”

“You should adopt him then. Maybe then my father will stop holding out hope that Potter is actually his son.” Whatever anger or hurt lay beneath his comment, Draco hid with a laugh and by pretending to be incredibly interested in reading his email. He scrolled absent-mindedly through his inbox, trying to feign disinterest in the whole situation. Eventually, he gave in. “So…uh…how is he?”

Hermione looked surprised. She didn’t remember the last time she had heard Draco ever talk about Harry. She’d heard plenty about Draco from Harry. After all, she and Harry had been friends for almost twelve years. When he had started attending the same high school as Draco—a haughty private school affair—Hermione was the one who played audience to Harry’s lengthy list of the sins committed by the reliably abominable Draco Malfoy. 

But for all that she had heard of Draco from Harry, she had never heard about Harry from Draco. Certainly, a large piece of that was that Draco had known of her friendship with Harry. Plus, they were in their twenties now, grown up and way past old high school rivalries—she hoped. The truth was that while she could see all of the traits that Harry had described so many times before, Draco wasn’t all that bad. She’d been nervous when she realized they were going to be working in the same lab because of everything Harry had told her. But over the period of two years, they had gone from awkward colleagues to friendly compatriots, and she had to admit that Draco had moments where he was…nice. She hadn’t dared to confess that to Harry when they talked though. Once she had mentioned that she was working with Draco, but Harry had merely responded with a bland “Oh?” and then changed the topic of conversation.

“Um, he’s doing well. It sounds like he had a good time in England. The Malfoy Corporation seems pretty happy with his work. Being Overseas Director apparently really suited him.”

Draco didn’t seem thrilled about Harry’s lack of crushing despair, mumbling “…why didn’t he just stay there then…,” barely loud enough for Hermione to hear. He hadn’t seen Potter since the summer after they graduated, after which it had taken Draco a long time to get himself to stop instinctively launching preemptive verbal attacks whenever he saw any black-haired man. But after years of not seeing Potter, he had been able to accept their situation for what it was. 

But with things like this party, it became hard for Draco to pretend that he had eradicated all of his old resentment. Potter had been gone for what—two and a half years? Draco had been gone for four years, and all he’d come back to was a tense dinner with his parents. Granted, it had been a very expensive dinner, but what did that matter when you had only forced conversation and a quick “No, it’s OK, Father, I understand. You have work,” to occupy the silence. The prospect of spending a whole evening at one of his mother’s meticulously planned gatherings (and all in the name of Potter, no less) made Draco want to “accidentally” bang his head into a wall so that he could get a doctor’s note excusing him from any sort of social interaction.

The prospect of spending a night with the sort of guests Draco had worked hard to avoid catalyzed him into action. “Hey, Hermione, do you want to go with me?” Hermione shot him a confused look. 

“To the party, I mean. They’re having a party tonight at our place…it’s for Potter.”

“A party? With you? Am I your date?” Hermione laughed, the absurdity of being linked to Draco in any vaguely romantic or sexual way hitting her.

“Hey!” Draco replied indignantly, “I’ll have you know that I am a great date.”

“I’m sure you are,” Hermione replied, her eyebrow arched in a mildly amused gesture, “I have heard very good things about your ability as a date. You come highly recommended from many a man and woman.”

“It’s true, you know. I have good reviews on Yelp.” Draco wiggled his eyebrows in a mockingly suggestive manner, leaning back in his chair with a hint of the arrogance he was famous for. 

“You’re an aspiring scientist, Hermione. You won’t be satisfied until you investigate the matter thoroughly for yourself.” 

Hermione laughed loudly at that and swatted him on the head. “Yes, I’m sure you’re quite worried about my satisfaction.

Draco rubbed his head where she had hit him and then tried to comb his hair back into place with his fingers. “Don’t worry, Hermione. I would never jeopardize the fate of the entire scientific world by having sex with you and then having you break my heart, causing the world to lose one of its greatest young minds in the world of whatever the fuck it is I am supposed to be working on right now—“ 

“You’re supposed to be testing the effect of adding a different catalyst to the reaction.”

“—yes, that. The point of all of this is that you won’t be my date. Just someone who keeps me from bashing my head into a wall or getting incredibly wasted tonight.”

“Draco, if you’re going to make me your babysitter, you’ll have to pay me.”

“But you wouldn’t want financial compensation as my date?”

“Well, Draco,” Hermione stated in her best imitation of a teacher talking to a six-year-old, “that would be prostitution. And I don’t have the time or mental capacity for that right now.”

“OK, fine. You can be my unpaid, sexless date,” Draco responded with a mock resigned tone. “Just know that I may get wasted and make a fool of myself unless you intervene.”

“I wouldn’t be your friend if I thought you were capable of anything classier.”

“Such flattery, Hermione…I’m going to start thinking you’re hiding deeper feelings.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll go. Exactly how and when am I getting there?”

“Hm, I’m not sure when it’s at. I’ll just text you later, and I can send a car to pick you up.”

“A car? For me?” A minor note of surprise appeared in her voice. “I sure do feel special.”

“I told you, Hermione,” Draco replied with his arrogance in full swing, “I am an incredibly satisfying date.” This time, he managed to dodge the swat to his head. 

* * * * *

“Ugh, why did I have to wear a tie!” The red-headed man fidgeted endlessly with the knot as the lights of city flashed by outside the car window.

His companion looked over at him, shaking his head as he smiled to himself. “Stop it, Ron. It took you long enough just to put it on. I don’t see how you’ve been alive for this long and yet you still take twenty minutes to put on a tie.”

“Well, sorry, Mr. I’ve-tied-my-tie-to-go-work-for-a-multi-billion-dollar-company-since-I-was-in-high-school.” Ron’s defensive sarcasm elicited another shake of his friend’s head. Looking down at the knot he was starting to unravel, Ron let go and sat on his hands in a juvenile attempt to stop touching his tie and then looked at his friend. “So, Harry, excited to be back?”

Harry wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. He’d been staring out of the window of the car for most of the ride, recounting the various aspects of his life that had taken part in the city that passed him by. It had only been two and a half years, but he had missed this city. Still, he wasn’t sure “excited” was how he would describe how he felt to be back. “Apprehensive” was probably a better word. Lucius hadn’t told him why he wanted him back, just that he had an offer to make him and the he wanted to make it in person. But Lucius could have easily flown out to meet him, so why he wanted Harry back in the country made no sense. So yeah, “apprehensive” was probably the best word.

He’d already told Ron all of this, so when he looked over at him with and merely shrugged, Ron understood. “Well, at least they got you that awesome room in the hotel, and they’re driving us out. So even if you’re fired, you’ll be able to go out in style.”

“Thanks, Ron. That was very reassuring.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Besides, they’re not going to fire you, and you know it. Oh, hey, at least that Dragon kid won’t be there, right? Isn’t he at school somewhere off in California or something?”

“You mean Draco, and actually, I have no idea where he is right now.”

“Really? I mean, you’ve been working for his dad for like ten years. They’ve practically adopted you. I would’ve assumed he talked about his only son with you.”

Harry polished his glasses as he tried to remember the last time he had heard about Malfoy. Nothing came to mind. “I don’t think Lucius has said anything. I don’t really know what goes on with Malfoy. He’s probably holding auditions for his future trophy wife soon.” Harry shrugged, not wanting to acknowledge that he might find any information about Malfoy remotely worth noting. 

Ron moved on quickly to another topic: “So what if it turns out that they want to make you my new boss?”

“Ron, I was basically your boss for two years.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be awesome if it happened again!” Before they could extrapolate on what would happen if Harry became Ron’s boss (again), the car pulled up to the Malfoy mansion. Ron’s jaw dropped. Harry wasn’t sure if it was the massive gates or the beautiful gardens or the strolling white peacocks or the elegant fountains or the beautiful white marble palace that rose behind all of this, but he imagined any one of these could cause even the most beauty-immune individual to stare in wonder. He remembered the first time he had seen the mansion. He had been rendered speechless for about five minutes.

A guard opened the gates, allowing the car to slowly enter. There was a brief stand-off with a peacock that didn’t want to move out of the way, but eventually they were able to make it to the front of the house. A butler (or at least Harry had always assumed that he was a butler) opened the door from them and led them into the house.

“Fucking hell!” If Ron’s jaw could have physically dropped any lower, it would be dragging on the floor. A magnificent foyer lay before them. The floor was filled with intricate designs of green and silver cut into stunning white marble. Two giant winding staircases wound along the side, leading to two more floors. The railing was wrought in a design that matched the elegance of the incredible chandelier hanging above. Even Harry, who had walked through this foyer many times, found himself staring. There were several new paintings lining the walls, and some of the statues seemed unfamiliar. Standing in the foyer, Harry had always found himself reminded more of an art exhibit than a home.

“Harry!” A loud feminine voice rang out across the room. Harry looked over to see a beautiful blonde woman in a long black silk dress walking towards him, arms outstretched in preparation for a hug.

Harry met the hug. “Narcissa! How are you?”

“Oh, I’m just fine. We had a gala last week to raise money for cancer research, so I am just exhausted now. You know how it is…everyone wants to sit far enough from their closest enemy to not have to deal with them, but then they still want to be close enough to eavesdrop. Anyway, dear, I hope you had a pleasant flight here?”

“Of course. And thanks for sending a car to pick us up from the hotel to take us here. Have you met my friend, Ron?” 

On cue, Ron snapped out of his reverie and stepped forward, introducing himself with a vigorous handshake. “Ron. Ron Weasley. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ron and I met when I was working abroad,” Harry explained, “but he transferred here a few months ago.” 

“Oh, yes. Ronald, right?”

“Yeah…I mean, yes!” Ron seemed a little taken aback, clearly not expecting the wife of the CEO of the company he worked for to have ever heard of him.

Narcissa proceeded calmly, “Well, we’re very happy to have both of you here. Please, help yourself to some food and drinks. Lucius should be here soon.”  
Ron didn’t need any more encouragement. Waiters were walking around with plates of small finger foods, but Ron managed to quickly fill up several plates. Harry helped himself to some champagne. Being back in this mansion made him feel on edge, but he couldn’t really figure out why. Looking around, he recognized several executives from the company who came over to engage in some light catching up. Ron participated from time to time, but it was difficult for him to converse between the chomping and the chewing.

“Seriously, Harry, you should try some of these dumplings. They are fricking amazing.” But before Harry could respond, a minor commotion rang out behind him. Turning to see what was going on, he saw an older man with long blond hair tied with a black ribbon walking towards him.

“Hello, Harry. I’m glad you could join us.” Lucius patted Harry shoulders. “And Ronald, it’s nice to see you here. I’m really pleased to hear that you’ve been doing well over here.” Ron hurriedly wiped his fingers and mouth on a napkin and then shook Lucius’ hand. Lucius turned back to Harry. 

“Well, Harry, I hope you have a good time tonight. I wanted to talk to you later, tonight if possible. I have an offer to make, I think I told you that already. But it’d be better if we took care of this sooner if possible.”

“Um, okay,” Harry replied, shooting Ron a quick glance that conveyed all the anxiety this mysterious offer had been giving him.

Lucius must have seen the look because he laughed and patted Harry’s shoulder again. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s nothing bad. We wouldn’t throw you a party and then fire you.” Harry laughed weakly. 

“No, no, Harry. Some of us just figured out a good plan to help all of us, you know, get you to live up to all of that potential we know you have.” With that, Lucius grabbed a champagne flute from a waiter’s tray and nodded to Harry and Ron before wandering off to talk to one of the board members.

“Well, at least we know you’re not fired,” Ron said in an attempt to be helpful.

Harry grabbed a dumpling from Ron’s plate and chewed on it, still not entirely relieved. He couldn’t think of any possible scenario where Lucius would need to talk to him at the Malfoy mansion as soon as possible, but then go off and participate in some merry chatter and drinking. Leaning against a wall, he took a sizable sip of his champagne and then, after contemplating the rest of his glass, tipped the remaining contents into his mouth in one gigantic gulp. Ron shot him a sympathetic glance. Harry scanned the crowd. Women in magnificent gowns and men in expensive suits filled the room, chatting pleasantly about the best private preschools, the ideal vacation houses on each continent, and the latest trends in decorative bee-keeping. Caught up in his trance, he’d almost managed to completely ignore him.

Guests had been entering throughout the night, and for the most part, Harry hadn’t paid much attention. Occasionally, he would glance at the door if he saw it open out of the corner of his eye. But of course, Draco fucking Malfoy couldn’t just walk through a door like a normal person. No, Draco fucking Malfoy had to just barely cross the threshold, contemplate the crowd while running his hands through his hair, and then cock his eyebrow and smile as if everyone in the room had been carefully arranged for his benefit. 

And of course, only Draco fucking Malfoy would glance at the guest of the honor and then move on, unable to muster the interest to actually acknowledge Harry’s presence.

“So that’s him, huh.” Harry had completely forgotten that Ron was next to him, and the sound of his voice startled him.

“Huh? Oh…yeah. That’s Malfoy.”

“Well, he’s clearly a Malfoy. But he’s actually the Malfoy. Draco Malfoy?” Harry grabbed another drink from a passing waiter and swiftly consumed half of it. This was an unexpected and unpleasant revelation. Malfoy wasn’t supposed to be here. Malfoy was supposed to be off somewhere else being the arrogant asshole that he was born to be. “I’m going to guess by your glare and alcohol consumption that yes, that is Draco Malfoy. But if that’s Draco, who is the woman with him?”

“Huh?” Harry had been so busy pondering the various ways he could avoid Malfoy’s presence for the rest of the night that he had completely failed to notice—

“—Hermione!” The doom and gloom of Malfoy’s presence dissipated as Harry walked past guests and waiters to greet his old friend. 

Hermione turned to him and smiled, extending her arms to envelope him in a warm hug. “Harry! I’m so glad to see you!”

“I’m glad you’re here! I had no idea you were going to be here.”

“Well, I didn’t either, but—“

“I invited her,” Draco cut in. If the sight of him had unsettled Harry, the sound of Malfoy’s voice completely unnerved him. He had caught glimpses of Malfoy after all, snippets of his love life appearing on the covers of tabloids whenever he decided to date another actor or actress or supermodel or world-renowned athlete. But those were images, and Harry could just stop looking at those. Even across a crowded room, Harry could try to convince himself (albeit unsuccessfully) that the Malfoy he saw was just a projection of a guy he had once gone to school with, a guy whose existence had never meant anything to Harry. 

But when he heard Malfoy’s voice, the image gained life and taunted him, reminding Harry of every bit of Malfoy’s life that he resented and wanted. 

Harry tried to ignore his internal response to Malfoy’s mere presence, replying with a simple, “Oh, thanks,” in what he hoped was the calm voice that comes with maturity and the ability to move past schoolboy quarrels. Hermione was glancing nervously between the two, trying to decipher what they were each thinking. 

Fortunately, Ron chose just that moment to engage in his typical lack of social grace. He had been making his way over, but a tray of cream puffs had delayed him. There was still a small bit of cream on the side of his mouth by the time he reached Harry, Hermione, and Draco. Harry quickly took advantage of the situation to try and calm his own nerves. “Hermione, this is Ron. We were working together, and he was actually transferred here a few months ago. Oh, and Ron, this is Hermione. She’s been my best friend since…forever, I guess.” Harry paused for a second. “And this,” Harry offered a curt nod in Draco’s direction, “is Draco.” He briefly met Draco’s eyes, trying desperately to ignore the feeling that a vortex of some sort had opened up in his stomach.

Ron smiled and stuck out his hand, first to Draco and then to Hermione. “Nice to meet you guys.”

Hermione shook his hand with a cool look on her face. “You have cream, you know, on the side of your mouth.” Ron scraped the side of his mouth with his finger and licked the cream off. Hermione’s nose crinkled a little in a look that Harry recalled from the many times he had managed to do something she disapproved of.

After Malfoy left in pursuit of wine, Harry turned to Hermione. “So when Malfoy says he ‘invited’ you, does that mean….”

“That I’m here as his date? Sure. But not like his date date, not like we’re dating. I told you, Draco and I are working in the same lab.” Harry let out a small sigh of relief. Hermione heard it and rolled her eyes. “You know, he’s not that bad. You should get to know him. Maybe you’ll hate him less.”

Ron raised his eyebrows in skepticism. “Really? He seems just as bad as you made him sound, Harry.”

“You’re basing your entire opinion of Draco on Harry’s stories from high school and a three second interaction with him?” Hermione crossed her arms, crinkling her nose again.

Ron’s tone became defensive. “Oh, come on. I don’t need to have known him for much longer. He looks like a dipshit.” Hermione huffed loudly, setting off a mild debate about the merits of judging someone based solely on the way they look. As far as first impressions between his two friends could go, this was only slightly better than what Harry had been afraid of.

The two bickered for several minutes, Harry’s presence apparently fading from their awareness. Still, even as their bickering segued into an actual conversation, Harry found it difficult to join in. Malfoy’s presence in the room kept him on edge. Watching him navigate through the room, Harry couldn’t help but note with envy the way Malfoy managed to seamlessly meld into a crowd of glamorous men and women, yet still stand out. It was like he could be anywhere in the world and belong there, and yet he would always be his own world unto himself. 

The night wore on. The three made their way around the room, meeting people and chatting. At some point, the sound of silverware clanking against an empty glass managed to sound its way across the room, alerting everyone to Lucius’ presence in the center of the room. When everyone had become sufficiently quiet, Lucius grabbed a new glass from a tray.

“Well, everyone, I’ll keep this short. I hope you’ve all been enjoying yourself, but as you all know, we’re here tonight because our golden boy, Mr. Harry Potter, is back in town.” Lucius nodded towards Harry and smiled. Harry felt his face flushing. Ron elbowed him lightly in the ribs, earning another disapproving look from Hermione. “Of course, it was our fault that he was gone in the first place. But as our profits have shown, he has done an excellent job when put to his own devices.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Malfoy leaning against a wall, sipping from his glass with a disinterested look, as if the proceedings were just a useless blip on the timeline of his line. Of course, Harry had to admit, that probably was what this whole party was to Malfoy—a complete waste of his time. Lucius continued, “So we are very happy that he’s back, and we have a really exciting offer for him that we hope he’ll take so that we can keep him here. So let’s all raise a glass to our one and only, Harry Potter!” At that, everyone cheered and raised their glass. All around the room, simultaneous sips were taken. But Malfoy had put his glass down, the disinterested sips giving way to a defiant resolution to not partake in any drinking held in Harry’s honor. Harry noticed, and the fact that Malfoy’s actions bother him angered him even more than the actions themselves. 

He still carried some of the resentment an hour later, even with all the food and wine and happy chatter, as he sat in Lucius Malfoy’s home office. Lucius sat in a silver throne-like chair, the arms and back carved with intricate designs. A black cane topped with an elegant snake with emerald eyes leaned against a large black desk that had designs that matched the chair. Narcissa stood behind Lucius, her hand resting on the back of the chair. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing there. He had never seen her in any boardroom, and as far as he knew, she wasn’t involved with the business in any way. The combination of Lucius’ foreboding decor and his own anger with Malfoy heightened a returning sense of anxiety. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Harry,” Lucius said, “we’re just waiting for someone.”

“Oh…um, it’s no problem.” Harry could feel his legs start shaking in anticipation. He quickly tried to quell the shaking by pressing his knees down. He smiled meekly at Lucius and Narcissa, and then let his eyes drift to the shelves that surrounded them. Lucius had a stunning collection of books in his office, ranging from rare editions to signed copies. Trying to keep his mind from creating bizarre hypotheticals of whatever this “exciting offer” was, Harry read through each of the titles and recited them in his head. He had just made it to Moby Dick when the sound of a door opening made him jump in his seat. He turned around, only to see the one person he had no desire to see at all.

“Draco, how nice of you to join us.”

Draco looked coolly at his father. “You’re welcome.”

“Of course,” Narcissa said, “we did ask you to be here about twelve minutes ago.”

Draco just leaned against a bookshelf and crossed his arms. “Apologies. If I knew I was holding up Mr. Potter, I would have been sure to rush right over.”

Lucius gave no indication of having heard Draco’s acerbic response. “Well, now that we have all relevant parties here, I think we can begin.” Harry went turned his head from Draco back to Lucius, confusion filling his head. How was Malfoy a relevant party to any of this? If Lucius could see Harry’s confusion in his face, he ignored it as readily as he had ignored his son’s sarcasm. “Sorry, Harry, I know it must have been pretty unnerving to bring you all the way back here for some mysterious offer. We’ve been keeping you hanging, and I hope you can forgive us.”

Harry shifted in his seat. “Um, sure. Okay.”

Lucius continued, “As you probably know, the Malfoy Corporation has always been run by a Malfoy or a relation. It’s part of our corporation’s rules. We’ve passed this company down from generation to generation, and that is what we will continue to do.” Harry nodded, but he was still confused about what this had to do with him and why Draco had to be in the room to hear this. “You probably do not know that Draco,” Lucius paused a moment, “will not be succeeding me as CEO of this company.” This surprised Harry. He had never dwelled too long on Draco’s position in the company, but Harry had always assumed that he was going to have to call Draco his boss one day. 

“Can I ask who is going to be succeeding you then?” Harry tried to run through his mental list of people who could inherit the company. There were a few cousins of Draco’s and probably some other distant relations, but none of them stuck out to him as potential CEO material.

“I’m glad you asked, Harry. Obviously, the fact that Draco will not be succeeding me poses some issues for the corporation. We want only what is best for everyone. But of our relations, there is no one who we feel is really up to the challenge. Narcissa and I have been talking for a while now with our stockholders, and we all strongly agree that there is only one person who we would like to take over the company. You.”

All of Harry’s previous surprise paled in comparison to what he just heard. Overwhelmed, he managed to stammer out a, “Um, thank you, sir. That’s really…nice…of you.” He could hear Malfoy stifling his snickers behind him, clearly impressed by Harry’s incredible eloquence. Harry tried to ignore it, moving on to the obvious question forming in the back of his head. “But….”

“…you’re not a Malfoy?” Narcissa replied this time, smiling. “Well, there is a way for us to get around that. But first, we should ask you a question. Are you currently seeing anyone?”

“Huh? No.” He heard rustling behind him. Malfoy was probably laughing to himself about Harry’s currently single state.

“Are you planning to get married to anyone at any point in time?”

“Um…I hadn’t really thought about it….” 

Harry had no idea what this line of questioning was leading to, but before he could ask what was going on, Malfoy’s uneasy voice behind him suddenly startled him. “Mom, what….what are you guys planning…?”

Lucius continued on as if Draco hadn’t said anything. “I’m sure you’re wondering why we’re asking all these questions. What we’re trying to get at is that the only way that we can make you my successor is to make you a Malfoy.”

Before Harry could ask more questions, Malfoy’s voice sounded out again. “Oh, no. No. No no.” Harry turned and realized that Malfoy had stopped leaning against the wall. He was stalking towards Lucius’ desk until he was standing next to Harry, leaning forward so that his hands were on the desk. The shirtsleeves of his perfectly tailored shirt were rolled up. Harry looked over, his eyes trailing down Draco’s arms. He could make out the tattoo of a snake on Malfoy’s forearm. He hadn’t had the tattoo in high school, and Harry found himself noting how it curved along Malfoy’s smooth skin and moved with the tensing of his muscle. And then suddenly, the realization that he was staring at Malfoy’s arms hit him. Harry felt his face turning hot as he quickly looked away. Malfoy didn’t seem to have noticed, looking intently from his mother and father in the hopes that he could stare them down into not doing whatever it was he thought they were doing.

Harry still couldn’t figure out what was going on, and knowing that Malfoy seemed to know more than he did was frustrating. “I don’t understand, Lucius. I still don’t get what you’re trying to say.”

But Harry’s voice was drowned out by Malfoy’s increasing volume. “Come on, Mom. You can’t possibly think that this is a good idea.”

“I still don’t understand….”

“Are you fucking dense, Potter!” Malfoy seemed to have forgotten that Harry was right next to him, and he practically shouted in Harry’s ear as he turned to glare at him. Harry stopped breathing, afraid that if he moved at all, the small gap between his body and Malfoy’s would be completely closed.

“Draco!” Narcissa’s voice was stern and yet soft. It was enough to get Draco to stop talking and stop leaning on the desk. He stood up and crossed his arms again, his jaw clenched tightly. Harry started breathing again. 

Lucius took over for Narcissa. “Harry, what we are proposing is this. What we want, and what we hope you want, is for you to eventually succeed me as CEO to this company. But we need one thing from you to be able to do this.”

“What do you need?”

“We need you to marry Draco.”


	2. Chapter 2

Draco sat up in the bed, setting a pillow against the headboard and leaning back to feel the soft, gray silk of the pillowcase against his back. The long green curtains were pulled back, and as he looked out, Draco could see the tops of apartment buildings beyond the laid along the skyline like elevated tiles. He crossed his legs, pulling part of the blanket over his lap. Reaching over to the nightstand, he took a long drink of water.

“You’re not hung-over, are you?”

Draco looked over at the door. A tall muscular figure made it’s way over, slowly sliding into the mass of tangled sheets and blankets.

Draco rolled his eyes and scoffed before taking another sip. “Hungover? Really, Blaise? I haven’t been hungover since like high school.”

“You were hungover after your 21st birthday.”

“Everyone knows that 21st birthdays don’t count. Besides, you and Pansy practically force-fed me those shots,” Draco pointed out. “Everything that happened as a consequence of that night was your fault, not mine.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Even the puke all over my backseat?”

“I like to think of it as retribution.”

“Your biological warfare cost me a ridiculous amount of money.”

“Well, it’s not vengeance if I don’t make you suffer. Besides, you get enough money from your endorsements to buy like ten new cars a year.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Blaised laughed, “missing the point for almost twenty four years!”

“Blaise Zabini,” Draco shot back, “harping on the same point for the past three”

Blaise lay on his back and laughed again, folding his hands behind his head. He looked over at Draco, “You know, you took up the entire bed again. I don’t get how every time we sleep together, you manage to take over the entire bed.”

“Out of a sample size of the four times that we’ve slept together, you’re trying establish a general trend about my behavior?”

“Hey! Don’t try any of your smart-person Jedi mind tricks on me! I was freezing last night.”

If Blaise was looking for an apology, he was clearly asking it of the wrong person. Draco merely suggested, “Sleeping with clothes helps.”

“Do I need to remind you that this is my bed?”

“And it is a marvelous bed,” Draco said, smoothing his hands over the sheets for emphasis. “But I don’t quite see how that’s relevant.”

Blaise just rolled his eyes, turning over onto his stomach. “I don’t know why I bother.” He folded a pillow under him, crossing his arms underneath and laying his head on top.

Draco let his eyes drift down Blaise’s back, admiring the way the dark muscles twisted and flowed together as Blaise adjusted his position. “You know, I don’t see why you’re a goalie. You were a great midfielder in high school.”

Blaise turned his head to look at him. “Times change. Sometimes a change of position is required. Besides,” he grinned, “I don’t like being told that I can’t use my hands when balls are at stake.”

“Oof,” Draco winced, ”that was a little heavy on the double entendre front.”

“I know, I know,” Blaise conceded, “I just try to get it all off at once, but then everyone ends up disappointed.”

“Really, Blaise? You decided that the best way to deal with awkward euphemisms was to add some more?”

“Face it, we didn’t start having sex because of my eloquence.”

“True. If I recall correctly, it was a shared sense of desperation.”

Blaise snorted into his pillow. Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed, but he didn’t get up. He just sat there, not focusing on any of the thoughts that had been building up in the back of his mind. Blaise’s voice broke the silence. “You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?” Draco turned his head a fraction of an inch, as if to place Blaise in his peripheral vision. He stayed silent. Blaise waited for Draco to break the silence with a response, but when it didn’t happen, he realized that he would have to force the conversation. “You’re going to marry Harry.”

Draco just shrugged. “I don’t know yet. My parents gave him a week to decide, so he’s still got a few days left to make up his mind.”

“But if he says yes,” Blaise replied, the realization of what Draco said fully hitting him, “you’re going to marry him.”

“Yeah.”

“So we probably won’t be having sex anymore.”

“Probably not.”

“But you will be having sex with Harry.”

Draco turned his head so suddenly that he almost destroyed something in his neck. The beginning indications of a sneer were starting to cross his face. “What!”

“Well,” Blaise replied calmly, turning onto his back and staring at the ceiling in thought, “you’re going to be married. To Harry. And people who get married usually have sex.”

“Not always.” Draco’s response reeked of the sort of nonchalance that people only put on when trying to hide their complete disgust with a certain prospect.

“No, Draco, I’m pretty sure they do. At least once.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll do just fine without it, “Draco replied, trying to mask the hint of tension in his voice. “I’ve known plenty of people who get married who don’t have sex.”

“How many of those people are happy about their marriage?”

“What does happiness have to do with it?” Draco’s voice was cold, but it was the most calm he had sounded in the last minute of conversation. Whatever it was that he had deluded himself into thinking about his impending sex life, he had no qualms about admitting the reality of what he expected from his marital arrangement. After all, he had reasoned long before this conversation, no marriage he had witnessed functioned happily. His father’s long work hours and his mother’s numerous prescriptions seemed to be testimony to that. But at least his parents were able to present a unified front when called upon. Draco had witnessed enough philandering spouses in flagrante and met enough mistresses when significant others were away to appreciate that his parents could at least treat each other respectfully in public.

“What about kids?” Blaise was still staring at the ceiling, piecing together all of the technicalities of Draco and Harry’s potential marriage as if it were some incredible hypothetical situation that needed to be explored to its most absurd ends. “I mean, presumably you guys will have an heir of your own at some point. It’s not like you can get married off to another guy when Harry’s time is up.”

“Adoption.” Draco smiled pityingly at the unknown future child. “We’re going to take some poor kid in and then screw him up so that he can be a proper member of our family.”

“That’s what families are for, even without adoption. Besides, it seemed to work for Harry…the whole ‘take in an orphan and make him a Malfoy.’”

Draco snorted. “It’s not like he didn’t have family taking care of him. We didn’t take him in. My parents—“

“—just took care of him like he was their own son?” Blaise gave Draco a knowing look that Draco tried to shrug off. “Well, it seemed to do him good. Remember when he first started at our school? His uniform barely even fit him because he was so skinny. Four years of scholarship through the Malfoy Corporation and working for the company, he morphed into one particularly well-toned senior.”

“That was the soccer,” Draco mumbled, “and the end of puberty. Not my parents.”

“So you admit that he was particularly well-toned?” Blaise was grinning at Draco mischievously. “I mean, I never wanted to say it to you in high school because I knew you would punch me in the face, but he was very spectacularly built.”

“What makes you think I won’t punch you in the face now?”

“Because if you do,” Blaise replied, his grin growing, “I’m going to accuse you of defending your fiancé’s honor.”

At the sound of Blaise saying the f-word, Draco froze. It was one thing to acknowledge that he might have to marry Potter, but referring to him as his fiancé made Draco realize just how much their relationship would change. As a knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach, Draco was forced to consider that Potter might one day be his husband, and that he would have to refer to him as such and not as some former high school classmate who worked for his dad. It was silly, he thought, that one word could make such a difference, especially when it was obvious that if Potter agreed, they would be engaged as fiancés and married as husbands. But Draco had put that thought so far away in the back of his mind that only now, caught off-guard by the casualness of his current situation, did he begin to consider again for the first time since that fateful meeting what it would be like to be married to Potter.

And he had thought about it. He had spent that whole night barely able to sleep because he couldn’t stop thinking about it. When his parents had told Potter their plan, Potter had just gaped open-mouthed as if all intelligent thought had vacated his brain. Not that Draco acknowledged the existence of any intelligent thought taking up residence in Potter’s skull. Draco had tried to pretend to himself that he had heard wrong, that his parents hadn’t just decided that having him marry Potter. Of course, Draco knew that on the surface, it was a good idea. Clearly, Potter was the only person they would trust with the corporation. He had proven to be more competent than Draco cared to admit, and he had the trust of the most influential shareholders. Draco still remembered attending events when he was in high school where some doddery executive would walk up to him and ask him where his “charming friend from school” was. Even at the party, Draco had seen just how easily Potter blended in with the businessmen and their wives. Potter had looked like he should have some glamorous supermodel hanging off his arm as he talked about stocks and interest rates and investments and whatever else guys like him talked about. 

Caught up in the turmoil of his thoughts, Draco didn’t hear Blaise behind him, asking if everything was okay. Something about the influx of repressed thoughts coupled with the awareness of Blaise’s voice made Draco snapped. “Look, I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.”

Even if he didn’t realize why Draco’s tone had shifted so suddenly, Blaise could sense his rising anger. “Fine, fine. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to make you. I just don’t understand why you’re going through with it. ” Draco turned away when Blaise said this, not wanting to see the concerned look on his friend’s face. “It’s not like your parents would force you to marry him...would they?”

“There’s nothing to understand.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Blaise’s expression had become defiantly skeptical. “Because the last time I checked, I was the one who would have to keep you guys from physically destroying each other in soccer practice in high school.”

“We were just pushing each other.”

“Yeah, we all know just how much you two were pushing each other.”

Draco stood up and turned around again, frustration etched across his face. “What are you trying to get at, Blaise? Are we turning this into some therapy, self-improvement fuck session now? Because if we’re going to talk about our personal issues, I think we should stop talking about something that might not even happen and maybe focus on your problems.” 

Blaise sat up, angry at the implications of Draco’s words and yet afraid he had pushed Draco too far. But before he could say anything, Draco had already left the room, gathering some of his clothes as he left. Blaise sighed and got out of the bed, following Draco into the hallway. Draco had already put his boxers and shirt on. He was looking around the room, trying to find whatever remaining articles of clothing were left.

“Your pants might have gotten thrown into the coat closet.” Draco didn’t respond, but he walked quietly over to the closet and found his pants in a crumpled mess underneath a few fallen hangers. “Look, Draco, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just want to know that you’re okay.”

Draco just sighed and leaned against the door. “Of course I’m not okay. But I will be. I mean, I knew this was coming, whether it was him or some other person my parents wanted me to marry. And as far as people my parents were probably considering, he’s not the worst they could have done.”

“I still don’t even understand why they were considering anyone.” Blaise tried to keep his voice from rising. “In high school, you used to make fun of things like marriage. And now, you’re talking about getting married as if it’s completely out of your control.”

“Look, Blaise, I know you mean well,” Draco replied, his voice carrying a defeated tone that Blaise had rarely heard come out of his mouth, “but this is one of those things that I really don’t want to talk about. If Potter says he is willing to go through with this, then we’re going through with it.”

“Okay, fine, but if you ever need someone to come talk to—“ 

“—I’ll know better than to go to you.”

“Exactly.” 

The pair smiled each other, silently acknowledging that this would probably not happen again, even if Potter didn’t accept the Malfoys’ offer. Draco looked at Blaise, “You should tell him, you know,” knowing better than to name Blaise’s person of interest. “We could keep fucking for as long as it suits us, but you’re not getting anywhere by torturing yourself about whether or not this guy wants you.”

“Draco, now we’re moving on to the part of the conversation that I don’t want to participate in.”

“That’s fine, I could carry it out myself. ‘Blaise loves someone.’ ‘No, really?’ ‘Yeah, but he’s afraid because even though he’s a big, studly soccer star, he thinks he doesn’t stand a chance with the other big, studly soccer star.’“

“Ha ha ha, Draco.”

Draco smiled sheepishly, “Look, you were the one who made me consider the prospect of having sex with Potter. I’m just getting my revenge.”

“Oh, you and your fucking revenge.” Blaise was smiling though. 

“You know, I’m only inviting you to the wedding if you ask him to be your date.”

“Very well, then.” Blaise put a hand to heart and stated dramatically, “But when my heart has been broken into a thousand pieces, I will make sure to get very wasted at your wedding and hit on your new husband.”

“Oh god, please do.”  
…..  
Harry had spent most of the day taking care of mindless tasks, trying to keep his mind off the question that had kept him awake ever since the party at the Malfoy’s mansion. He had almost snapped at three secretaries who had made the huge mistake of committing minor errors in their presentation of various files that Harry needed to use. He’d even come close to pushing an intern who had gotten between him and his cup of coffee. These were only a few of the challenges to Harry’s patience that had reminded him that there was something drastically wrong with his world, and that wrong was named Draco Malfoy.

Technically, Malfoy hadn’t done anything wrong, but Harry was pissed that this incredibly fateful decision he had to make seemed to revolve around the one guy he thought he had escaped all interaction with. Maybe they would have to see each other at gatherings, force some small talk about their families, and then pretend the whole thing never happened—that was the most Harry had ever expected out of his future interactions with Malfoy. But marriage? It was safe to say that Harry had never even considered that.

But the realization that he was even considering the idea was what made Harry’s chest tighten and his mind shut down. He knew what it meant to Lucius to have Harry as his successor. It meant that he could rest easily knowing that his company would be handed down to someone who knew what he was doing. It meant that he could avoid the inevitable internal civil war that would arise if Lucius was forced to turn to other branches of his family to find someone suitable for the job. It meant the security of Malfoy Corporation, and the corporation meant enough to Harry for him to not immediately reject the proposal.

Before Malfoy Corporation, Harry had just been a lonely kid whose parents had died before he could even remember. The aunt and uncle who had taken him in had made sure that he knew just how unwanted he was, parading him in public only when they wanted guests to coo over how generous and caring they were for taking in their orphan nephew. Harry knew better than to tell the guests that the only function he served in the Dursley household was as a free punching bag for his cousin, Dudley, to practice on. All of that had changed when he had applied for a scholarship for a private school through Malfoy Corporation. 

It had been Sirius’ idea actually. His godfather may not have been allowed looking after Harry in any practical way, but that didn’t keep Sirius from taking care of Harry whenever he could. He was the one who had made Harry think that he had a shot at the scholarship. Harry had applied, mostly out of desperation. Hermione was going to attend a magnet school, one that he didn’t have a chance of getting into. She was one of his few friends, and the prospect of facing high school with Dudley and without her had made Harry want to freeze time so that he wouldn’t have to face the future he was so terrified of. 

The scholarship offered a chance for a different future. In return for the full tuition going towards this school, Harry would have to agree to intern with the company through his high school years and then to work for at least two years after graduation. A tear-inducing essay about his childhood and a few interviews later, Harry found himself dressed in the crisp uniform of Slytherin Academy, the school’s logo embroidered in green and silver against the black blazer. All he had to do now was keep his grades up and work at the office, and Harry would be able to keep the scholarship.

But the scholarship had done more for him than he had ever expected. Not having to rely on his aunt and uncle for money gave him a sort of freedom he had never experienced before. He no longer had to find the least terrifying time to ask Uncle Vernon for some money to buy school supplies. He didn’t have to ask Aunt Petunia for new clothes that always ended up being Dudley’s latest cast-offs. People say that money can’t buy happiness, but for Harry, it sure made happiness a lot more attainable. 

In this new school, Harry had thrived. He no longer had to deal with a school full of people who were terrified of his cousin. In fact, this new school had the sort of kids who even Dudley would quake in the presence of. It wasn’t that they were bigger or stronger, but most of them had grown up knowing that the world would operate under their machinations. Physical strength might be able to knock them over, but in the end, it wouldn’t beat them because they would all grow up to be powerful enough for a measly punch to be easily forgotten. 

It was amazing what the removal of bullying during school hours had done. Harry could focus on his work in class without worrying about the walk back to his locker. He could do his homework without having to give all the correct answers to Dudley first. His aunt and uncle began to hold Harry in aw, afraid of the power and might implied by the corporation backing his scholarship. Even if he was still an unwanted blemish in their household, he was a blemish that had a prestigious scholarship and a job at a company that Uncle Vernon would cut off his right arm to have some semblance of a contract with. All of this meant that he didn’t have to put up with Dudley’s bullying much at home either. 

But it wasn’t just the removal of physical threats that had made Harry’s life better. Slytherin Academy had given him new friends and a feeling of belonging. For the first time, Harry could be a part of something that was bigger than him. He could be a member of sports teams and school clubs, and he could compete with other students. Of course, the only person he had really competed with was Malfoy. 

Ever since they had first met at a small luncheon held by the Malfoys on behalf of their scholarship winner, Harry and Malfoy had their rivalry cut out for them. Malfoy had barely acknowledged him through the whole event. But Harry had been willing to dismiss all of that, write it up to some sort of shyness on Malfoy’s part. Of course, that didn’t really fit with the easy confidence displayed by the blond heir as he smiled silkily at the other members of their party. And Harry could still recall the firm grasp of the cool hands that matched the harsh glare Malfoy had shot at him when they first met. No, shyness wasn’t the explanation.

Later during that luncheon, Harry had gotten lost in the mansion, only to find himself in a massive library. Draco was leaning against a shelf of books, talking to two kids who Harry would later come to know as Crabbe and Goyle. Harry saw them from across the room, but they didn’t seem to have noticed him. He was debating whether or not to step forward and introduce himself again when he heard Malfoy say his name and “my parents’ latest charity case” in the same sentence. Harry didn’t remember what else was said after that, only that Malfoy had looked past his two cronies to stare straight at Harry and smirk. The asshole had smirked at him. It was only the first of what would be many smirks throughout their high school years. 

And that’s when Harry became aware that he and Malfoy would never be friends. From that point forward, Harry and Draco would compete with each other in anything they could find. They never acknowledged it, but they didn’t have to. In class, on the soccer field, at their respective internships in the corporation: Harry and Draco could turn anything into yet another battle in their long war.

But being a part of Malfoy Corporation had given Harry enough to be able to overlook whatever anger Draco incited in him. The company had given him the ability to not just be his own person, but to be more than he had known he could be. For the first time, he wasn’t just some useless, bullied kid. He was someone who did impressive work and who earned respect from people whose respect meant something. And Harry liked the work that he did. The company developed electronics, and working at a place where new technologies were being discovered and manufactured excited him. Knowing that he was a part of this whole process and that his actions had real influence made Harry feel satisfied in a way that he knew many people were not when it came to their careers.

The question now was whether or not this satisfaction was worth the prospect of being married to Malfoy. Having never been in a relationship that he thought was meaningful to have last a lifetime, Harry hadn’t thought much about marriage. The idea of having to live with Malfoy for the rest of his life made Harry more than a little uncomfortable. But the weirdest thing of all to Harry was that the decision seemed to be entirely on him, as if Malfoy’s opinion was irrelevant. 

Malfoy had made his anger with the whole situation well known during their meeting, but that was before Lucius had actually stated outright what said situation was all about. After that, Malfoy had shut up. He’d returned to his shelf behind Harry and just stood there. Harry had often wished for Malfoy to lose the ability to speak, but in that moment, his silence was terrifying. If Malfoy had argued and yelled and fought, maybe Harry would find this decision easier. But that complacency and resignation made it difficult for Harry to process everything that was going on. He had spent the past few nights wavering back and forth between his two choices, sometimes considering the possibility that maybe marriage to Malfoy would be worth the good it would do for the company that meant so much to him, and then in other moments deciding that marriage could only result in murder.

The office Harry was currently occupying was a temporary situation until he made his decision, but he still had work to do. And work was proving to be an occasionally capable distraction from the real issues that were bothering him. But at that moment, it was not enough. The phone rang, snapping Harry out of his latest reverie. A chipper female voice told him to go to Lucius’ office, unaware that she had just interrupted the thought process of a very angst-ridden employee. He set aside the files that had been carelessly strewn across his desk, and stood up, making his way over to Lucius’ office. When he got to the office, a well-dressed secretary let him in.

“Ah, Harry, thanks for coming on such short notice,” Lucius said as Harry walked into the room. “I’ve been really busy lately, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Of course. I’ve just been looking over some of the numbers for the Nimbus deal.”

“Oh, great, great. Okay, well, unfortunately, I don’t have much time. I have a flight to Hong Kong in an hour,” Lucius tapped his watch for emphasis, “but I just wanted to check in and ask if you had given any thought to the proposal Narcissa and I made.”

Any thought? Harry had to keep himself from laughing at the absurdity of the statement given the reality of just how many conflicting thoughts were in his head. Instead, he just replied, “Um, yeah, I’ve thought about it a little. I still don’t really know though….”

“Oh, no, of course not. Don’t worry, I don’t want to force you to make a decision right now.” Harry sighed internally in relief. “Narcissa and I recognize that we are putting a lot of pressure on you with this. We would love to give you more time, but unfortunately we can’t.” Harry wanted to ask why he couldn’t have more time, but Lucius’ tone made it sound like this was a matter that didn’t concern Harry—which was strange considering that the whole matter definitely did concern him. “We were thinking that maybe it would be helpful if you and Draco got to know each other better. You two haven’t seen each other for a long time, so it might be good for you to maybe spend an evening in each other’s company.”

“Um, yeah…that sounds like a good idea.” Harry didn’t mention that it sounded like a terrible idea. A whole evening in Malfoy’s company? That sounded like a recipe for a fucking disaster. But how are you supposed to tell your boss that you hate his son with the passion of a thousand fiery suns and that you’re likely to spend the evening trying to make him disappear using the power of your mind…but that you’re still considering the idea of marrying him?

Lucius didn’t seem to hear any of Harry’s deep abiding hatred for Draco in his voice. He continued on as if Harry had just said that spending an evening with Draco was the best evening he had ever heard of. “Great! We reserved a table for you two tonight at 7 pm, at Chez Pierre.”

“Oh, you meant tonight?”

“Is that a problem?”  
“Er…no. Um, that’s fine.”

“Okay, great. We’ll send a car to pick you up.” 

And that was that. Harry was going to be going on a date with Draco. He hated himself for the fact that his first thought was, “What am I going to wear?”

*****

A date? With Potter? Malfoy had checked his phone several times to make sure that it was working properly when his father had sent him the text message. What was it with his parents and sending him terrible news about Potter via text message anyway?

He hadn’t had class that day, hence the evening prior spent with Blaise. But he had gone in to lab to run a few experiments, only to have them almost literally blow up in his face. He’d come home early, hoping that a few crappy reality TV shows later, the day would suck a little bit less. But no, of course that wasn’t going to happen. 

He still had a few hours until he had to head over, but now that this date was all that he could think about, he found himself contemplating the best outfit to convey, “I hate you and don’t think you’re worth my time or effort, but I want you to know that I can dress better than you.” He had just decided on the shirt when a knock sounded on the door. Looking out of the peephole, he saw two big men in suits who he hadn’t seen in a long while. 

“Crabbe? Goyle?” Draco asked after opening the door, “What are you guys doing here?” The two men walked in, scanning Draco’s living room and looking at the textbooks lying across the coffee table like they were the most terrifying objects in the world. “You guys? I think this is the point where one of you should say something.”

“Er….right…yeah,” Crabbe stammered out, looking at Goyle in the hopes that he would elaborate. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well, Crabbe. But I highly doubt that you came all the way over here to ask me how I am.”

Goyle spoke up this time. “Well…er…we heard that your dad is going to make you marry Potter so that he can be the CEO.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“We just…heard.”

“Well, it’s been suggested,” Draco replied, “but it’s not official.”

“But we don’t want it!” Goyle stated this with more passion than Malfoy had realized he was capable of, but it wasn’t surprising. Crabbe and Goyle had started working at Malfoy Corporation because their fathers had contracts with the company, but that was the only qualification they held. Potter had been responsible for cutting a significant amount of their budget, the result of his discovery that they were spending the money on a large number of personal expenses. It was only through the most tenuous of connections that they had been able to keep their jobs.

Malfoy glanced coolly between the two of them, feeling an awful like he had in high school when he had been the head of their little posse. “So what do you want from me?”

Crabbe spoke up this time. “Well, don’t you want to be CEO?”

Malfoy paused for a few seconds before he replied “Do you want me as your boss?”

“Well,” Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, gaining confidence, “yeah.”

“And do you think anyone else wants me to be the CEO one day?”

“Um…er…we’ve talked to a few people….”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I hope you haven’t talked to anyone who can get you into trouble”

Crabbe and Goyle emphatically shook their heads. “Oh, no…no, no. Just the ones who don’t like Potter either. And you don’t like him either!”

“So what? Do you have a plan or something? Or were you just planning to form a support group about how much you hate Potter? Are you here to recruit me as a member?”

“We have a plan. To make you CEO.”

Draco looked between the two of them, contemplating whether or not the two were actually capable of coming up with a real plan. Then he smiled at them, “Okay then, let’s hear all about how you’re going to make me boss.” 

*****

Harry adjusted his tie again. Looking around and then reminding himself that no, there was no one else in the hotel room, he performed a quick sniff check on his armpits. He might not want to smell good for Draco, but he didn’t want to smell bad either. The last thing he needed was for Draco’s sneer to get even bigger. “Okay,” he mumbled to himself, “I guess this is it.”

He took the elevator down and got into the car. As the driver took him to the restaurant, Harry tried to come up with a list of reasons that he couldn’t make it. Maybe the car would get stuck in traffic. Maybe they would get into a terrible-but-not-dangerous crash. Maybe one of his friends would call him with some sort of emergency that would require his immediate attention. But no, there was no traffic, no crash, and no emergency.

Malfoy was already at the restaurant. Harry’s eyes went right to him as soon as he entered. He was sitting down, scanning a wine list with only a mild look of approval. He was wearing a simple white shirt with a deep red tie, giving the sense that he never had to put any effort into looking as he good as he always did. Harry found himself looking assessing his own tie, unsure of whether or not he had really chosen the best outfit for the night. Malfoy glanced up and noted Harry’s arrival, returning to his perusal of the wine list a few seconds later as if Harry’s presence was unnecessary for the night’s proceedings.

Well, Harry thought, this will be fun.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry ordered a third glass of wine in the hope that maybe this would be the one that would finally ease the tension. Surrounding him and Draco were expensive-looking couples relaxing in the romantic atmosphere created by flowers, dim lights, and the sound of a piano tinkled softly in the background. Harry had rapidly consumed the first and second glass at a pace that Draco matched with ease, as if downing glasses of expensive wine was something he did on a regular basis. Of course, this was probably the case. Malfoy seemed like the kind of guy who played beer pong with real glasses and fancy wine.

Draco’s voice interrupted his thoughts. "You know, I really prefer beer." Harry looked up, afraid that he had vocalized the image of Draco playing luxury wine pong. But Malfoy was merely holding up his glass and scrutinizing it, staring regretfully at the beautiful red liquid as if he could turn it into a golden brown ambrosia through the power of his mind. He had apparently forgotten Harry’s presence because when he looked up and noticed the confused look on Harry's face, he quickly took a sip and set the glass down. "It's just, whenever I go to one of these places, I usually just want to order some beer."

Harry wasn't sure how to respond. "So why don't you just order some beer then?"

Malfoy scoffed. "And risk a lecture about how the 1836 Chateaux de Bullshit goes so much better with the scallops than a nice glass of Maudite?" He shuddered a little bit. "I've been there, and it wasn't pretty."

Harry just nodded his head and took a large gulp of his wine. If Lucius had hoped that this dinner might make him and Malfoy discover a latent connection that could be turned into a functional relationship, he seemed to have miscalculated. Thankfully, a waiter appeared at that moment with their appetizers. He seemed far too happy to be working at Chez Pierre, which usually featured the sort of waiters and waitresses who knew that the food was expensive enough to get them a decent tip without any real attempt at hospitality. He cheerfully announced their dishes, listing off the techniques and ingredients employed by the chefs, apparently ignorant of the incredible silence between the two guests he was serving.

At least now they had an excuse to not talk to each other. The two ate slowly, focusing all of their interest on the food in front of them. Alas, appetizers only last so long, no matter how small the bites taken. By the time their plates were cleared, they were left to fold their napkins and wait for their next wine refill. Well, fuck it. If Malfoy could make a brief attempt at awkward conversation, then Harry could too.

"So, um, Hermione says that you two work together now?"

Malfoy had been scraping his fork along the left-over sauce on his plate, creating squiggles and doodles with intense concentration. He looked up when Harry talked to him, but didn't stop skimming his fork around the plate. "Oh, yeah. She and I both work for the same professor, and our projects overlap."

"So you're like some kind of lab worker or something?"

"I'm a grad student." Malfoy paused. "In the chemistry department. Same as Hermione."

"Oh…cool." Great, Harry thought to myself, at least he could tell Lucius that he had tried. Malfoy was staring at his glass again, looking as if he expected a new topic of conversation to surface in its depths like some sort of magic eight ball glass of wine. Harry stared at the glass too, trying to see if he could somehow visually consume the alcohol and move on with the whole situation. "Um, so do you like it?"

Malfoy looked up abruptly. "Yeah. It's good." He looked unsure as to whether he should elaborate, perhaps hesitant to assume that Harry would actually want to hear anything about the drudgery of student life. Still, there was nothing else to talk about. “It can be hard,” he admitted. “I'm finally almost done with classes, but at least I passed my quals."

"Quals?"

"Qualifying exams. We had to take them at the end of our first year."

"Oh, are those the things that Hermione—"

"—was freaking out about for no reason because she was the least likely of all of us to fail? Yeah. She kept us up until 4 am so that we could quiz her about some obscure experiment that we were never going to get asked about."

"Let me guess," Harry replied knowingly, "she said it was 'just in case.'"

Malfoy laughed and rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "If it had been up to Hermione, we would have quizzed her on every single scientific achievement since the discovery of fire. Our study group revolted in the end. We told her that if she made us ask her one more question about ancient alchemists, we would find all of her textbooks and burn them."

"That's a better threat than the one I had to use when we were studying for the SATs together."

"Oh?"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I told her that if she didn't stop making flash cards for every word in the dictionary, I would replace all of her pencils with non-No. 2 pencils the day of the exam."

"You're a cruel study partner, Potter." Malfoy was smirking, but Harry detected an underlying sense of approval in it. 

Harry nodded in mild agreement and then pointed out, "At least there was no arson involved in my plan." 

The sudden silence that followed took them both aback, not because of the quiet, but because of the realization that they had just engaged in conversation with each other. Real, live, no-punches-thrown conversation. Harry felt the sort of giddiness that follows a burst of pleasant interaction with someone you haven't talked to in a while, only to realize the absurdity of such a feeling with Malfoy. He reached for his glass at the same that Malfoy reached for his and blushed at the symmetry of their actions, but both men refused to relent to the other. They started drinking, engaged in a silent competition to outlast each other that only resulted in two very empty glasses.

"Another refill, sirs?"

Harry had no idea when the waiter had arrived at their table, but he was as grateful for the refill now as he had been after the first glass. Actually, with the combined effects of three quickly drained glasses of wine with little food, he might be even more grateful now. He was filled with gratefulness for everyone and everything. Maybe he would have to call everyone and everything to make sure that everyone and everything knew how grateful he truly was. Except, of course, the man seated across from him.

Three quickly consumed glasses of wine with little food had also done a significant amount of work on Harry’s impulse control. During the main course, the question blurted out of his mouth before he could even think to stop himself. "So why aren't you inheriting the corporation?"

Draco's fork stopped halfway between the plate and his mouth, a few pieces of pasta slowly unraveling off the end. "I'd rather not talk about it." 

Harry took in Malfoy's response and remained silent for a few seconds before deciding, "No, that's not good enough."

Malfoy looked up at him from his fork, this time taking the time to consume the food that Harry seemed to be so intent on keeping him from eating. "This is a matter between my parents and me. It's not anything that you need to know about." He wiped his mouth with a napkin as if that settled the matter.

"I think it's something I need to know. If I become CEO—"

"'If?'" Malfoy was sneering at him.

"If I become CEO," Harry continued, pretending to not have heard Malfoy, "I need to know what's keeping you from trying to take my job."

"I think being married to the CEO is going to be a pretty compelling reason." Draco looked directly at Harry when he said this. If it weren't for years of putting up with Malfoy's attempts at making him uncomfortable, Harry would have been shifting around in his seat.

"I don't get it," Harry replied, staring directly back.

"What?" Malfoy had returned to his food, seemingly satisfied that Harry wasn't going to ask him any more questions about why he wasn't going to be the CEO of Malfoy Corporation.

"I don't get what you're getting out of this marriage thing. I mean, I know what I stand to get out of it."

"One of the highest salaries in the world?"

"Well, sure, that's one thing. But this company is like—"

"—don't say it—"

"—my family."

Malfoy snorted derisively, a familiar sneer forming across his face. He had finished his food, but was now distractedly scraping the sauce across his plate with the side of his fork like he had done with the appetizer. Harry flushed and quickly started consuming the remains of the dish. A few times, he felt himself trying to stab the pieces of chicken with the fork as if they were physical manifestations of all of the anger he felt at Malfoy's scornful dismissal. A piece of broccoli skidded across the plate and almost made it onto the frighteningly bright white tablecloth after one such angry stab. Finally, he set the fork down and looked back at Malfoy.

"Look, I know you don't like me. That's why I think it's fair for me to ask why you're going along with your parents' plan."

"Sure, it's fair. That doesn't mean that I'm going to tell you." The typical imperious look had resumed its place across Malfoy’s features.

Harry had to keep himself from forming a fist around his fork and trying to stab the plate into oblivion. "Well, if we're going to get…married—"

"If!" Malfoy interrupted him again, "Are you really operating under the delusion that you might say 'no' to my parents?"

"Excuse me," Harry delicately set the fork down before it found itself embedded in the table, "I think they'll accept my decision either way."

"Oh, they will," Malfoy replied in a way that made Harry very nervous. "But do you think you're really going to have a place at Malfoy Corporation if you turn them down?"

"I'm not going to get fired."

"That's not what I'm talking about.” Draco's eyes were glinting sharp silver compared to their usual grey. Harry had seen that glimmer before, and he'd never enjoyed the aftermath. “I'm talking about you and your goddamn hero complex."

"What the hell are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"Come on, Potter." Malfoy rolled his eyes with the theatricality that always seemed reserved especially for Harry. "We both know that you're going to agree to this marriage. This is your chance to be what you were born to be: everybody's favorite little hero. You'll swoop in and save the multibillion dollar company from being caught in an inheritance war and threatening the jobs of millions of workers. And even better, you're going to do good things and make sure that everything runs well. Because that's what you do. You save people." Malfoy's voice was oozing with bitter cruelty.

"First of all, Malfoy,” Harry replied heatedly, “I have not made up my mind yet, so stop assuming that I'm going to go through with this marriage. Maybe if it were anyone other than you, I would have agreed to it by now. But the idea of spending a lifetime with you makes me want to punch a wall."

"The feeling is mutual."

"And second of all," Harry's voice rose, "I do not have a hero complex!" Heads were turning around them. He was leaning forward, his hands on the outer edges of his plate. Noticing the stares, he tried to relax a little, but this only caused his fingers to grab onto the tablecloth.

Draco shook his head and chuckled. "How many times in high school did you go out of your way to fight some injustice or help some random person in need? How may times have you saved this company from the brink of financial ruin?"

"I only did that last one once! And that was ages ago! And that's just because I'm not an asshole like your friends, Crabbe and Goyle, or any of those other guys who were trying to steal from the company. It doesn't make me some kind of savior."

"Oh, please," Malfoy snorted. "If your life was an epic fantasy novel, you would have died and been resurrected by now just so that you could save the world."

"I'm not Jesus," Harry replied, exasperated.

"Well, that's because your life isn't an epic fantasy novel."

Harry exhaled and relaxed back in his seat. "And who would you be in this fantasy novel situation?"

Malfoy didn't miss a beat. "Han Solo."

"'Star Wars is a movie, Malfoy," Harry reminded him, "not a novel."

"Fine. I would be the dashing young gentleman who is clearly the more interesting character of the whole book. And," Malfoy puffed his chest proudly, "I would still have better hair than you."

"There is nothing wrong with my hair, Malfoy." Harry had to keep himself from running his fingers through his hair to check that there was nothing atrocious going on.

Draco cast a long analytical look at the top of Harry’s head. "There's nothing about it that a comb couldn't improve,” he diagnosed.

"Whatever," Harry replied, this time succumbing to the need to run his fingers through some of the tangles. "After all of these years, you still go straight for the hair when you want to insult me."

Malfoy took a small sip of water before calmly answering, "And after all of these years, you still have been unable to elevate it beyond the appearance of a dirty mop."

Harry just shrugged in response. “I'm pretty sure that's the fiftieth time that you've called it a dirty mop."

"It’s hard to be creative when I feel you should have gotten the message by now."

 

*****

 

It was weird, Harry decided later, after dessert had been consumed and they were both leaning back, their waistbands tight against their satisfied bellies. It was weird, this obnoxious and frustrating, yet familiar and comfortable tension that enveloped their conversation now after so many years.

He couldn't remember the last time he had anything resembling a pleasant interaction with Malfoy, and somehow this evening was coming very close to a respectable exchange between the two. There were no bloody noses, which was always a plus. Nor were there any torn shirts or bruised arms or sticks poking out of strange places, so clearly progress had been made. Maybe this is what maturity looked like: two grown men trading insults about hair over expensive food and wine. Hermione would be proud.

Still, he hadn't expected to have to share a car with Malfoy on the way home. They had come separately, and he had just assumed they would leave that way too. But apparently, Lucius had other plans. No, Lucius had decided that Harry's driver was needed elsewhere, something about an emergency delivery of an ancient Mesopotamian artifact to the mansion.

"Well, I guess you're heading back in my car." Malfoy’s reluctant tone suggested that he would love nothing more than to leave Harry behind at the restaurant to fend for himself. Harry wasn't sure that would be a terrible idea given that the alternative was spending more time with Malfoy.

The ride was quiet. Both of them looked out the window, taking advantage of the fact that they no longer facing each other. The driver tried to make a few ill-timed jokes about their "date" before deciding to join them in silence.

When they arrived at Draco’s place, Harry was surprised by what he saw. He had expected Malfoy to live in some pretentious neighborhood with guards and crazy ergonomically constructed playgrounds designed by Swedish architects in exquisitely maintained parks. The area that Draco actually lived in was nice, but that was about the most you could say about it. It was nondescript, a set of standard apartment buildings with standard cars on standard streets with a few standard parks nearby and probably standard rooms inside. And yet this place was apparently home to a Malfoy.

Harry thought that there must be some mistake, that maybe Draco was just stopping buy his secondary apartment that played host to whatever excess of possessions he undoubtedly owned, when suddenly he heard a voice asking, "Do you want to come up?"

Malfoy was standing outside the car, bent so that he was just barely looking in. His tie was dangling down the edge of the frame, and Harry felt a sudden urge to reach out and feel the red silk between his fingers. He just barely caught the look of, "What the fuck did I just say?" that flashed across Malfoy's face. And before he could respond "No," Harry suddenly found himself following Draco up to his apartment. "Do you have a roommate?"

Malfoy laughed softly. "Me? A roommate?"

Harry laughed too to cover up for the strange nervous feeling building in his stomach. He had been inside Draco’s room at the Malfoys’ mansion, but it had certainly never been on the invitation of Draco himself. It was usually Narcissa or Lucius who suggested that perhaps Draco would like to take their guest up to his room since they are the same age and in the same school and of course they could be friends. Those times, they had merely sat awkwardly as Harry drank in the glory of a teenage bedroom that was larger than the total area of the living room, kitchen, and dining room of his aunt and uncle's home.

He had expected something similar as he entered the apartment, but while all the markers of Malfoy taste were present in the apartment—from the art adorning the walls to the elegant furniture that filled the room—this apartment felt more like a home than anything that Harry had ever associated with Draco. Maybe it was the stacks of homework strewn across the dining table, or the textbooks aligned across the shelves. Or maybe it was the fact that everything in the room seemed like something that Draco would want there, and not just the manifestation of Narcissa's latest decorating project. 

And somehow, even in something as common as a standard apartment in a standard neighborhood, Malfoy's presence elevated his surroundings. His apartment didn't seem like some sort of foreign land in the midst of pedestrian surroundings. Rather, it seemed like a part of the world around it, though still something more. Much, Harry hated admitting, like Malfoy himself.

Draco seemed more at ease here, Harry thought, watching as he made the two of them tea. It was a strange notion though because Malfoy was always at ease. Wherever he went, he was calm and haughty, and clearly so much better suited for everything than everyone else. And yet Harry couldn't ignore the fact that Draco looked much more comfortable in his apartment than he had ever been at the Malfoy mansion.

Harry scanned the titles of the textbooks on the walls, and while a few made sense (General Chemistry seemed pretty straightforward), some of the textbooks took on names that he didn't know how to decipher. He had heard the titles mentioned in conversation with Hermione, but she was so busy talking about her classes that he had never stopped her to ask what her classes were actually about.

Glancing down on the coffee table in front of the TV, Harry noticed an envelope from their high school. He had gotten one too before he had left his place in England. The bold font smacked of a new public relations firm, and apparently the stock photos of high school students studying happily in beautiful classroom settings had changed since their graduation.

"Are you going?" he asked loudly.

"Huh?" Malfoy looked back from the kitchen. Harry held up the envelope. "Oh, that. I told them I was, but I'm not really sure if I want to. You? "

Harry glanced down at it. "I wasn't planning on being in the country when they sent the invitation, so I told them I couldn't go."

"I'm sure they'd be happy if you changed your plans,"Draco answered as he looked back at the boiling water, pouring it into two mugs. "They'd love to have their hero back for Alumni Weekend."

Harry set the invitation. "Can you please stop calling me that?"

Malfoy ignored him. "Just call Daphne. She'll probably be able to fit you in." He walked over to Harry and offered a mug. "I hope you like green tea. It's all I have left right now."

"That's fine." Harry accepted the tea. "Thanks." The two sat on the couch, quietly drinking their tea. After a few minutes, Harry noticed that Malfoy was staring at him. "What? What's wrong with my hair this time?"

"Everything."

"Original, Malfoy."

"Hey," Malfoy reminded him, "you asked. Besides, I wasn't even noticing your hair."

Harry shot him a concerned look. "Oh?"

"I was just trying to figure out if the tea was making your eyes look more green." Draco said it very matter-of-factly, not noticing that baffled look on Harry's face.

"Malfoy?"

Draco turned back to look at Harry. "Yes?"

"That was the lamest line I have ever heard." Draco shrugged his shoulders, and then smiled in acquiescence. "Are you drunk?"

"Well," Malfoy pontificated. "You're sitting on my couch drinking tea. So yes, it would appear that my inhibitions are quite low right now. But you're also sitting on my couch drinking tea, which indicates that your inhibitions are doing about as poorly as my own."

Harry glanced sidelong at Draco, and then nodded in agreement with the logic. They had both made it to the end of their tea, and set their mugs on the table. Harry wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to do now (just how do you tell your sworn enemy, "Thanks for the tea and awkward conversation?"), and he had just started going through the possible courses of action when he realized that Malfoy was sitting close to him. Like really close to him. Maybe it was just an accident, a sudden shift in the space-time continuum that sometimes happens when you're sitting on a couch with your long-term rival.

And now, Malfoy had one of his arms behind Harry's back. Was Malfoy aware that his arm had fallen behind Harry's back? Maybe it had just fallen there due to some strange gravitational force.

But now, Malfoy was leaning in. Did Malfoy know that he was leaning? Surely, he must not. Was this the same gravitational force that had led to his arm falling behind Harry's back? Harry would have to ask Hermione about it later. She would be able to explain why Malfoy’s face was getting closer and closer, especially if there was some mysterious physical force involved.

Malfoy was still leaning in. Usually, when his face was this close, punches were involved. And Harry was sure that he should be leaning away or bracing for the inevitable hit, but he felt oddly frozen. Wait, why was Malfoy's face tilting like that and—

Oh. OH. Surely, Malfoy wasn't kissing him. And surely, he wasn't responding. That was just too preposterous. And yet Harry felt the pressure of Malfoy's lips as they softly brushed against his own, and he wasn't sure if the warmth he felt was due to the feeling of Malfoy's lips or the proximity of Malfoy's body or some nefarious combination of the two. He could feel himself being pressed against Draco's arm, and the pressure made him arch his back so that the distance between his body and Malfoy's became increasingly small. Harry reached out a hand and lightly grabbed a small segment of the other man’s shirt with his fingers, acutely aware that his knuckles had felt the pressure of Malfoy's lower abdomen graze against them.

And as suddenly as the kiss began, just as suddenly did it end. Malfoy leaned away, his arms and body apparently able to overcome the mysterious force that had made him become entangled in Harry to begin with. It took Harry a second to regain full use of his mental facilities and realize that the cause of the abrupt end was Draco's phone, which Malfoy was currently answering somewhere in the kitchen.

Malfoy reemerged, seemingly nonplussed by the proceedings a few seconds earlier. "Sorry, a friend from school called. We're supposed to work on a problem set tonight."

Harry looked at him skeptically. "You're capable of working after that much wine?"

Malfoy walked over to the coffee table and grabbed the mugs. "I find that ridding my mind of barriers usually makes for good study habits."

"Uh huh." Harry stood up, trying to hide his lack of balance. "I'll just head out now."

Malfoy was washing out the mugs in the kitchen, and he shouted casually over the noise of the faucet, "Okay, then."

Harry headed over to the door. He was just about to open it when he felt the question inside of him dying to get out. He wasn't going to be drunk enough to ask it later, so now was probably the only chance he was going to give himself. "Malfoy," he stated loudly in the direction of the kitchen. "What was that?"

Malfoy turned off the faucet and walked out of the kitchen, back into Harry's view. "What was what?"

Harry sighed, bracing himself to ask again. "What," Harry asked, "was that?" punctuating his question with a nod at the couch.

"Oh. That?" Malfoy languidly glanced at the couch. "That was just curiosity."

…..

Just curiosity! What the fuck had he been thinking? That had been a momentary lapse of brain function, a complete takeover of alcohol and awkward silences that had forced Draco into doing something he had never had any intention of ever doing in his life ever. And he had definitely not planned to do it tonight of all nights. He hadn't planned for this weird date set-up thing to turn into some session that involved inviting Potter up to the apartment for tea and then administering mouth-to-mouth for no valid reason.

Especially not when he had actual plans that making out with Harry could potentially interfere with.

No. He had not made out with Potter. He had merely felt an overwhelming need to lean over, and Potter had just been in his way. With his mouth. That, Draco decided, was the only valid explanation.

He was still fuming over the incident on his couch when Crabbe and Goyle arrived half an hour later. As soon as Malfoy opened the door, he released all of the frustration he had felt building up.

"What the hell were you guys thinking! What did I tell you!"

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, as they were wont to do when any question was posed to them. Between the two of them, they were still short a few functional neurons.

"Uh…."

"….err….."

Draco let out a massive sigh. "I told you to wait for my call. I told you that I was going to be with Potter. And I told you that if you called me when I was with him, I might have a hard time hiding what we're trying to do."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other again. This time, Crabbe spoke for the two of them. "But we're still doing it, right? We're still going to follow the plan that Goyle and I came up with?"

"What did I tell you about your plan?" Draco was beyond irritated. Potter would never have problems with henchmen. Potter would have henchmen who were capable of stringing together sentences to form a whole paragraph. Then again, Potter didn't have "henchmen." He had friends.

Goyle started off the response. "You told us that it was the stupidest fucking thing you had ever heard of—"

"—and that it wasn't so well thought out—"

"—and that we were lucky that no one had found us out yet—"

"—and that we would need you to pull it off." The two beamed at each other, proud of the fact that they had answered a question correctly.

"Yes,” Draco said, grateful that they were at least capable of basic memorization skills. “Well, did you do what I told you to do?"

 

"Yeah!" Crabbe replied, "We put it all on an USB—"

"—and we made sure to clear our computers so that no one catches us—"

"—and we're not going to send any more emails where we talk about this—"

"—and we found everyone else who doesn't like Potter and who wants you to be boss instead—"

"—so all we need is to set up the meeting, and we can do it."

"Great," Draco replied, accepting the USB stick that Crabbe had in his outreached arm. “See how much better everything goes when you let me run the show?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Harry, will you please stop pacing. It's not getting you anywhere, and you're going to wear a hole in my carpet at the rate you're going." Hermione was sitting at her desk, scraps of paper scattered around her covered with undecipherable scribbling describing various chemical reactions. A pencil was in her right hand, an eraser in the left, poised and ready to be put into action should she come across an unsatisfactory piece of work. She had her eyes focused on one particularly frustrating problem, barely even looking at Harry as he crossed from one end of her bedroom to the other.

"Leave him alone, Hermione. Pacing is how men make decisions." Ron was sitting on her bed, attempting to take surreptitious glances at her open closet and nightstand. Hermione shook her head slightly. Harry could practically hear her sighing "Boys…," even though she didn't say anything.

"Yeah, Hermione. Pacing is helping me," Harry said, knowing deep down that Hermione was right, and that walking back and forth between two ill-defined points was not going to solve any of his issues.

This time, Hermione turned away from her paper and glared at Ron. "See what you're doing? You're not actually helping him make up his mind. You're just encouraging him to avoid thinking about the problem." Ron had been focused on one of the drawers in her dresser, presumably considering whether or not it held any underwear. When he felt the full weight of Hermione's stare on him, he hastily averted his eyes and apologetically mumbled, "I'm just trying to help."

"Well, then talk to him."

"Talk?" Harry and Ron were both looking at Hermione as if she was suggesting that Ron and Harry figure out their problems by battling a dragon.

"Yes, talk" Hermione sighed. "You see, you take your feelings and put them into words." Ron and Harry still looked at Hermione like she was speaking a foreign language. "Then you say them. Out loud. To each other."

Ron and Harry looked at each other, the same perplexed look crossing their features. "Feelings?" Harry asked, "Hermione, I'm facing the prospect of marriage to Draco fucking Malfoy, not trying to figure out whether or not he has a crush on me. This has nothing to do with feelings."

"Yeah," Ron said, trying to punctuate Harry's declaration. Hermione had already gone back to looking back at her paper. "If you're so good at talking, then why don't you talk to him?"

"Because," Hermione replied absent-mindedly, her pencil making it's way up and down the paper as she searched for the part of her work that had gone so terribly wrong, "I don't have anything to say."

Ron snorted, doubting that the woman who seemed to know everything would find herself at a loss for words. Hermione ignored him. "But come on, Hermione," Harry pleaded, "you're the smartest person here. You've have to have some idea of what I should do."

"Look, Harry, I want to help you, I really do. But I don't have anything to say."

"Just tell him not to do it! Tell him that Malfoy is a huge asshole and that if they get married, Harry is going to be miserable forever."

"Well, I think those are two completely unfounded statements. So no, Ron," Hermione said harshly, "I will not say either of those things."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You don't believe Malfoy is an asshole? After everything I've told you?"

"I just don't think he's that bad"

"How can you say that!" Harry stopped pacing, completely dumbfounded. "This is the guy who called me a 'charity case' after just meeting me! This is the guy who liked to take every opportunity to beat me and then rub it in my face! This is the guy who pushed me into a set of bleachers—"

"—after you deliberately tripped him during practice?" Hermione was glaring at Harry this time. It had been a while since Hermione had properly admonished him, and he wasn't enjoying the sensation.

"I can't believe you're defending him!"

"I'm not defending him—"

"Then what? Are you trying to tell me that Malfoy is the most virtuous and honorable and amazing man to be put on this earth? Are you telling me that I should marry him?"

"I'm not trying to tell you anything!" Hermione's voice rose with her increasing frustration. "See," she threw her hands up in exasperation, "this is why I said that I don't have anything to say."

"Hermione, I don't even know if I can trust him! I don't know why he's going along with this marriage thing, and I don't remotely believe that he's doing it because he's just fine and dandy with the idea of marrying me. Let's forget the fact that I hate Malfoy. How the hell am I supposed to marry someone who I don't even trust!"

The expression on Hermione's face softened. "Harry, I don't know. I just…I've talked to Draco, you know. And I think…I think there's a lot you don't know about him…."

Ron spoke up before Harry could respond. "And you do?"

"I'm not going to just tell you guys stuff about Draco."

"Why not?" Ron asked. "Harry's your friend, you'd be helping him."

"Because it's not my stuff to tell." The edge was returning to Hermione's voice, and Harry tried to stare at Ron to get him to be quiet. "If you want to know more about Draco, then just ask him."

"I asked him why he was going along with the wedding. He didn't say anything."

Hermione hadn't anticipated that Harry would act maturely in the face of Draco Malfoy. "When?"

"Last night. At dinner."

Ron and Hermione both looked at him. "Dinner? You had dinner with Malfoy?"

Harry looked sheepishly between the two of them. "Er…yeah…."

"Why?" Ron couldn't comprehend why two guys who might get married to each other might share a meal together. If Hermione rolled her eyes any harder, they would be stuck in the back of her head.

"It wasn't our idea! Lucius and Narcissa set it up." At that, Ron started laughing loudly.

"What?" Hermione asked. "What's so funny?"

"I mean, it's just so ridiculous. This whole thing. Harry is getting set up by his boss…and with his boss' son…who he's hated since he was like 13 or 14…and…well, actually," Ron suddenly became very somber, "when you put it like that, it's kind of sad, isn't it."

"Thanks, Ron. What I needed right now was for you to point out the absurdity of the situation."

"Well," Hermione said, trying to move the conversation onward, "how did the dinner go?"

"Um, it was ok. We both survived, so that seems like a good sign."

"Well, at least we know that you two might be able last the wedding reception." Harry didn't like the pleased look on Hermione's face. Her tone shifted and became accusatory, "Did you guys fight or anything?"

"Only with words, Hermione. I told you, we both survived. We're big boys now."

"Uh huh." She was clearly not buying that Harry's claim of a peaceful evening that didn't result in a fistfight.

"Aw," Ron teased, " you two went on your first date! Did he bring you flowers?" Harry snorted a laugh in response, pacing back to Hermione's dresser. "Don't worry, Harry, you shouldn't feel pressured to do anything you don't want to, especially on the first date. I mean, it's not like you kissed him or anything."

Harry froze so quickly that neither of his friends could ignore the panic in his eyes. Ron thought that Harry must have just stepped on some pin or something that was lost in the rug. Hermione was a little more perceptive. "Did you…kiss him?"

"No! No!" Harry insisted. "I didn't kiss him."

"What? When did we start talking about kissing?" Ron was still waiting for Harry to stomp his foot up and down in pain, completely forgetting that he was the one who had brought up kissing in the first place.

"Wait…" Harry was definitely not thrilled with the look of realization dawning on Hermione's face. "Did…did Draco kiss you?"

"What!" Ron had only just started to grasp what was going on in the conversation between Hermione and Harry. He looked at Harry, waiting for the denial. "Well," he said when the denial never came, "how was it?" Harry looked at Ron in surprise. Ron shrugged his shoulders, "Well, you might have to marry the guy. It seems like it would be good to know if he's a good kisser."

Hermione was clearly as taken aback by Ron's answer as Harry was. It seemed like she was even a little bit impressed with the fact that his first reaction wasn't, "Why aren't you in a hospital having every cell of Malfoy removed from your body?"

Harry didn't look at either of them. "It was ok. We were both kind of tipsy. Or drunk. I'm not really sure which anymore. We were in his apartment. But then some classmate called or something…something about coming over and working on a problem set together."

"His apartment?" The bewilderment on Hermione's face was continuing to grow, which was fun. It wasn't often that she was bewildered. She did seem to be frowning too, as if something about Harry's story bothered her. Harry assumed that it was the basic premise of Malfoy kissing him and didn't ask her about it.

"Yeah, we ended up going back in the same car. He invited me up."

"So Malfoy really is going for this whole marriage thing?"

"Yeah. It seems that way. After Lucius and Narcissa told us, he barely put up any fight at all. I don't get it." Harry tried to see if Hermione's face would give any clues, but he wasn't very good at subtly reading people.

"Harry, I don't know what's going on. I just think—"

"—that he's not that bad," Ron said, as if it was a lesson in second grade that he was supposed to repeat out loud. "We know, Hermione. You've been telling us this for ages now."

"I've known you for less than a week," Hermione pointed out. "And this is the first time I've talked to you since the party."

"Well, you keep talking about how amazing Malfoy is—"

"—I never said he was amazing!" Hermione's voice was taking on a distinctly indignant tone. "I just suggested that maybe he isn't the terrible, barely-human person who deserves to burn in all seven layers of hell at once the way Harry has always wanted him to."

"And how does that help Harry?"

"I don't see you giving him any good advice!"

"I was the one who suggested that he marry Draco and then kill him in his sleep."

"Yes, because turning Harry into a black widow is a fantastic idea. What other criminal activities can we suggest to help Harry out of this situation."

"You guys!" Ron and Hermione snapped out of their argument and looked over at him, surprised to see him standing there. They were so enraptured with their own argument that they seemed to have completely forgotten about Harry's existence, even though he was the reason for their argument.

He was glad to see a chastened look on Hermione's face. "Er…sorry, Harry."

"Yeah…sorry, Harry."

Hermione and Ron shot each other a quick look that reminded Harry of five year olds who just had a fight on a playground. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Hermione cleared her throat. "So, Harry, we were talking about kissing Malfoy?"

Harry looked between the two of them, his eyebrows raised. "Were we?"

"Yes."  
"I thought we said all that needed to be said about it."

"I don't think so." Hermione didn't look like she was going to accept anything less than a ten page, single-spaced report on the matter.  
"What else is there? We kissed. It was ok. The end."

"Yeah, Hermione, what else is there?" Ron said, apparently as baffled as Harry about what else there is to know about a kiss other than it happened and that it was ok.

Hermione set her pencil down, resigning herself to the fact that she would have to explain to two emotionally stunted men that sometimes kisses are more complex beyond their mere occurrence. "I mean, how did it happen?"

"He put his lips on mine. Isn't that how kisses usually happen?"

"Well," Hermione replied, trying to hide her exasperation but failing as usual, "Did it just come out of nowhere? Were you two fighting? Why did he kiss you?"

"I don't know!" Harry stretched out his arms in confusion, almost knocking over a hairbrush on top of Hermione's dresser, "Why does Malfoy do anything?"

"Did you ask him?"

"Yes!"

"And he said…?"

"Curiosity."

"What?" Ron and Hermione asked at the same time.

"That's what he said: he was curious."

"What does that even mean?" Ron was looking at Hermione, expecting her to have the answer as she usually did.

"Well," Hermione began thoughtfully, "there's a chance he's going to marry Harry. It's like you said earlier, Ron," Ron started at this, not expecting to have said anything helpful to the conversation, "'it'd be good to know if he's a good kisser.'"

"But, Hermione," Ron replied, "Harry hasn't even made up his mind yet."

"Malfoy seems to think I have. He kept telling me about how I have some 'hero complex' or something, and how that means that I'm definitely going to be taking up Lucius' offer." Hermione's looked contemplative, not immediately dismissing Malfoy's claim when Harry relayed it. What disturbed Harry more was that Ron wasn't jumping up in righteous indignation, condemning what Malfoy had said. "You guys…you guys can't actually be agreeing with him!"

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks as if hoping that if they stared hard enough at each other, they could come up with a strategy to avoid the subject altogether. A cohesive strategy never developed, and they looked back to see Harry's fearful face.

"Um…"

"Well…Harry, you see…."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I do NOT have a hero-complex!"

Hermione tried to comfort him, telling him in her best motherly voice, "Harry, it's not a bad thing. It just means you like to help people. You always have. Remember all the people you stood up for in school, even when you were getting bullied? And there was that time you basically saved the Malfoy Corporation from imploding on itself. Not many people can say that they've saved a multibillion dollar corporation from financial ruin."

"Yeah, come on," Ron encouraged, trying to follow Hermione's example, "the company would have fallen apart without you."

"I just did what I was supposed to do! And since when does helping people make me have some sort of complex?"

"It's just…," Hermione proceeded hesitantly, "you do have a tendency towards self-sacrifice."

"And sometimes, you get very single-minded about doing the right thing."

Hermione nodded her agreement with Ron's observation. "And I can see how someone like Draco might think that means you'll do anything for the company you've already done so much."

"So you're agreeing with him? You think I'm going to marry him."

"God, Harry, no," Hermione emphatically shook her head. "We wouldn't be here right now if Ron or I assumed that you were going to marry Draco without second thought. You called us for help, and here we are. If we thought we knew what you were going to do, we would have told you by now."

Harry sighed. "Sorry. I know you're just trying to help. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. I wish Sirius were still around, he'd know what to do." Hermione and Ron didn't say anything, each knowing how much the loss of Sirius just one year before still affected Harry. Harry stared at a spot on Hermione's dresser without looking at it. Then shaking himself back into attention, he looked at the both of them, trying to ignore the concerned look on their faces. "Look, fuck it. I bet Malfoy was just fucking with me. That's what he likes to do. That's probably why he kissed me—so that I'd spend the next day talking about what it means and why he did it like some kind of teenager after the prom."

"Harry…." Harry wasn't sure what Hermione was going to say, but Ron glared at her so that she wouldn't say it.

"Look, you guys, thanks for your help. I mean, really, maybe I still don't know what I'm going to do, but it was nice to have someone to talk to."

Hermione took the cue and changed the topic of conversation. For the rest of the time they were in her apartment, there were no references made to Malfoy or the upcoming decision Harry would have to make. Instead, Harry and Ron reminisced about their time in England, earning a few mocking scolding comments from Hermione. After a few minutes, Harry felt himself relaxing, sliding down to sit on the carpet.

Hermione maintained her talent of being able to maintain conversation while simultaneously working on whatever challenging problem was currently in front of her. She and Ron managed to keep themselves from bickering, and Harry noticed that the two actually seemed to get along when they didn't find something trivial to argue about. Hermione's cat Crookshanks wandered into the room, and Harry absently petted the massive ball of living orange fur. He knew that he had been stressed for the past few days, but he hadn't realized just how stressed. But now, settling into an interaction that had nothing to do with the things that were causing him the most stress, Harry felt like he didn't want to leave this oasis that was completely void of anything related to Malfoy.

When he did eventually leave, Ron lingered behind a few moments under the pretense of having forgotten something in Hermione's room. Making sure Harry was safely out of earshot, he turned to Hermione. "You think he's going to marry Malfoy, don't you."

"Yes, of course," Hermione replied, not missing a beat. "Don't you?"

Ron smiled, a little ashamed of himself. "Yeah, of course. But don't tell him I said that." He paused a bit and then added, "I'll see you at the wedding then?" A blotch of red appeared across his nose.

Hermione blushed and laughed, "Sure."

After Ron left, Hermione closed the door and quickly turned to look for her phone. Finding it buried underneath Crookshanks, she looked up Draco's number and called him.

"Hermione? What's going on?"

Hermione rushed straight into, "Just what are you trying to pull with Harry?"

"Hermione, I would think that you'd know better than to ask a newly engaged man what he's trying to 'pull' with his fiancé."

"Shut it, Draco. You're not engaged yet, and that's not even what I'm talking about." Crookshanks was staring at her, concerned about what had her owner in such a huff.

"Then I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about the fact that you kissed Harry last night—"

"Not a crime, I assume?" Draco's voice was calm, as if kissing Harry was a particularly un-momentous occasion, akin to sweeping your floor or wiping your windows.

"—and then told him you were going to have classmates over to work on a problem set."

"I still fail to see why any of these facts would have you this upset." Draco sounded reassuring, but Hermione knew better than to trust a reassuring Draco.

"Draco, we both know that you never work on a problem set with anyone if you can help it."

"Well, I was having some issues with this one problem…."

"You would rather die than having someone come to your apartment to help you with a homework problem. I'm basically the only person you ask for help, and that's only as an extreme last resort."

"Maybe I just—"

"I don't care what your excuse is. You lied to Harry, and we both know it. I just want to know that you're not up to anything. I want to know that you're not going to hurt him."

"Hermione, I'm not up to anything. I'm not trying to do anything to Potter."

"Right, Draco. We both know you hate Harry. We both know that I know all of the things you've done to him before—"

"But—"

"And I know all of the shit that he's done to you. I know that neither of you are innocent. Against my better judgment, though, I like you."

"Why thank—"

Hermione's words were coming out at an increasingly rapid pace, and Draco's words were lost as she talked over him. "But if you do anything—and I mean anything—to hurt Harry, I will punch you so hard in the face that my fist will be imprinted in it until the day you die."

"Message received," Draco replied, sounding completely unfazed by Hermione's threat.

Hermione's temper rose. "I mean it, Draco. I will make sure you regret—"

"—ever being born? Yes, I hear you. Loud and clear. And I know that if there is anyone who can make that happen, it is you." He still sounded disturbingly nonplussed by the cave Hermione had threatened to form in his face.

Hermione waited before replying. "Ok."

"So we're ok?"

"…sure."

"Ok…I'll see you on Tuesday."

"Tuesday? Why not Monday?"

"Oh, nothing, I just have something I need to do on Monday. A doctor's appointment"

"Oh…ok. I'll see you on Tuesday then."

 

*****

 

Draco clicked the "End call" button on his phone. He held it out in front of him, contemplating the dialogue he'd just had. He almost felt guilty for lying to Hermione, but it really couldn't be helped. He had a plan to put into effect, and it's not like he could just tell Hermione. No, that would be a bad idea. That would be a really bad idea. For obvious reasons.

Well, hopefully when she found out that he lied to her, she'd let him have a head start.

 

*****

 

Harry found out about it almost as soon as it happened. If you want to get exact about it, it took him about the same amount of time that it takes a company to realize that a significant amount of its money has vanished, have its CEO send an email to the most vital employees, and for one such vital employee to turn on his phone and realize that there was an urgent email detailing the potential collapse of the company he works for.

So if you want to get exact about it, Harry found out about it approximately one minute and thirty seconds after it occurred, which in the grand scheme of everything that ensued, was hardly any time at all.

And it also meant that his Monday started off as most Mondays do: dreadful and terrifying.

The e-mail from Lucius didn't really say that much. But "emergency" and "money" and "missing" were all Harry needed to see in his barely-conscious state to know that this was the sort of morning where it didn't matter if his shirt matched his tie or if his socks were the same color or if he couldn't completely make his hair presentable. All that was important at this point was that he get out of bed, grab some clothes from his suitcase, and rush to work.

Of course, when he made it to the conference room to see a crowd of worried executives, he realized just how silly he looked. But it wasn't until he saw Draco Malfoy sitting in the front of the room, surrounded by Crabbe, Goyle, and several other employees Harry remembered for their complete ineffectuality, he felt a sudden desire to run back to the hotel so that he could iron his shirt and find some socks that were in the same color family. And yes, he would comb his hair. If it meant that Malfoy would stop giving him that obnoxious knowing look, he would comb his damn hair.

Harry turned to the person next to him, recognizing the head of research and development next to him. "What's going on, Fleur? What have you heard?"

She looked back at him. "I only know what Lucius put in the e-mail. There's a ton of money missing. He didn't tell you anything else?"

"What? Why would I know anything else?"

"Harry, come on," Fleur replied, "we've all heard the rumors. We all know he wants to give the company to you."

"Oh…right. But no, I haven't heard anything."

"Do you know what Draco is doing here?" Fleur asked, nodding her head towards to vile clump of blonde hair.

"No idea," Harry looked quickly at Malfoy, but then just as quickly looked away, fearing that he might accidentally make eye contact. Malfoy was seated at the head of the conference, his cohorts arranged him like some kind of entourage of gleeful gargoyles. They looked like they knew something, which was dangerous because they never knew anything. If they knew something, that meant Malfoy was involved. And if Malfoy was involved, then things were going to go badly very quickly. "I doubt he's here out of the goodness of his heart."

"You think so?" Fleur was honestly asking him. "I don't really know him that well. I've only heard stories." People were still coming in to the room around them, but Harry noted that Lucius had still not arrived. His foreboding chair was distinctly empty.

"If the stories make him sound like an asshole, they're probably true."

Fleur looked thoughtful, recounting silently the stories she had heard. "Well, I don't think asshole would be the right word. He just sounds like the kind of guy who will make any deal to get what he wants."

"Which is not at all comforting right now."

The number of people coming in was starting to dwindle. Everyone except for Malfoy and his merry gang of assholes looked anxious. Harry noticed a lot of sloppy tie knots, barely tucked-in shirts, and equally distressed hair. It was clear that the combination of potential ruin and a lack of coffee were putting everyone on edge.

Finally, Lucius walked in. But unlike the other employees, Lucius didn't seem remotely worried. His sharp tailored suit and neatness stood out in the room, rendering him the calm of the proverbial storm. He projected his usual air of authority, serenely making his way to his seat and setting his cane against the table in the middle of the room. It didn't seem possible for a man who had just found out that his company had suddenly mysteriously lost a significant amount of money to seem so…ok.

Harry suspected that some of it must be a front, that there was some part of Lucius that had to be terrified for his company and the possibility that his son might be involved in whatever shenanigans were going on. He realized then that even if Lucius was worried, he couldn't show it. The most important task for him right now was to reassure his employees and stockholders that there was no impending apocalypse, and the best way to do that was to act as if there was no reason to consider the possibility of an impending apocalypse.

In that moment, Harry realized what it would mean for him to be a CEO, not just in terms of the daily managing of a major company, but in terms of the crises that would inevitably seize the company from time to time. He suddenly felt very worried that he would not be able to measure up. All the confidence he had in his own abilities as an employee began to feel unfounded as he tried to assess his talents as a leader. Just as he started considering the numerous ways he could accidentally cause the company to fail, Lucius started talking.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice." The room instantly went silent when he spoke, another aspect of his leadership that Harry wished he could emulate. "As I'm sure you all have seen, a large amount of this company's money seems to have gone…missing." He barely looked at Draco when he said this, almost as if his son wasn't in the room. Draco was staring at his father, his expression unreadable. Like many people in the room, Harry found himself look back and forth between the two, trying to figure out what was going on by analyzing the two Malfoy men. "Draco," Lucius continued, finally looking at his son, "would you care to explain what is going on."

Draco looked coolly back. It was almost like he wasn't in a room filled with very anxious and very powerful men and women, like this was just some sort of diversion for the day before he went on to the real things he wanted to accomplish. "I think my associates would prefer to explain." How typical of Malfoy, Harry thought. Get his henchmen to do the dirty work.

Crabbe and Goyle brightened, excited to have their leader put so much faith in them in front of such a crowd.

"Well, we took the money—," Crabbe started.

"—and we put it in another bank—"

"—and we won't give it back—"

"—unless you make Draco the heir to Malfoy Corporation."

In the silence that followed, all that Harry could think was how much he wanted to leap across the table so that he could punch that fucking smirk off Malfoy's face.


	5. Chapter 5

Looking back, Harry would realize that this was the day that would change everything. After what Malfoy did, Harry would know exactly where the guy he was being asked to marry stood. He would no longer have to extrapolate from high school fights or make momentary allowances for good behavior. No, this was one of the obligatory moments in everyone's personal stories where everything changes.

Of course, Malfoy would find a way to make himself central to one of Harry's watershed moments. Asshole.

Harry would like to say that he wasn't surprised when Malfoy's cronies announced that they were essentially holding the company for ransom. He would like to say that he always expected this sort of shit from Malfoy. But there was a small part of him that wanted to accept that maybe Hermione's mantra wasn't wrong: maybe Malfoy wasn't that bad. And when he though back on their dinner, there was a small part of him that hoped that maybe—just maybe—Malfoy wasn't the loathsome dipshit he'd always known he was. People change, right? It's not set in stone that your hated high school rival and potential fiancé will always be a twisted, manipulative sack of shit? Right?

Apparently not. When Crabbe and Goyle finished their offer, all Harry could think was, "I let him kiss me!" He wasn't exactly proud of that response. He had been hoping for a cool, "Oh, that's Malfoy for you. I guess I'll just come in and save the situation so that we can move on to more important things." Instead, Harrye felt like some sort of ancient damsel who'd just had her honor besmirched by a smooth-talking prince.

Harry wanted nothing more than to engage in some major physical violence. This seemed like a bad idea though, given that he had an audience that included his boss and theoretical father-in-law. He could feel his colleagues angling to get a better look at his face, trying to gauge his reaction to what had just happened. The possible engagement between him and Draco was supposed to be on a "need to know" basis, but this was the sort of secret that had it all: company politics tinged with vaguely romantic intrigue. Of course everybody in the room knew.

He suddenly became very self-conscious, trying to make sure that he didn't look the way he felt.. Confusion and frustration were probably not inspiring emotions coming from a future CEO. Well, maybe he wouldn't be in charge after all, not if Malfoy had his way.

Shit, if Malfoy was engaging in a hostile takeover for the job Lucius wanted Harry to have…did that mean Harry was going to be fired? Was he going to have to get a new job? If he had to update his resume and go on interviews because of that asshole, Harry was going to—well, he wasn't quite sure yet what he was going to do to Malfoy, but it was going to involve a lot of punching.

There was a tightening in Harry's stomach. Despite his lack of breakfast, he felt an incredible urge to empty the contents of his stomach. Maybe if he edged closer to Malfoy, he could aim for Malfoy's suit…. Vomiting on your enemy seemed like the sort of thing an effective leader would do.

The crowd started scanning the area between him, Lucius, and Draco, curious about the growing silence between the three men. Harry envied the Malfoy men's ability to remain calm. Looking at the two of them, Harry felt like he was interrupting some sort of family dinner. Malfoy's relaxed arrogance recalled his high school days, sitting at his lunch table with an assortment of followers around him. He seemed to enjoying himself. Of course, Harry thought to himself, he probably was.

Lucius still appeared to be completely unperturbed by the fact that his company was currently at the mercy of his own son. Maybe takeovers were a part of the Malfoy tradition, like bar mitzvahs or debutante balls. Still, something strange was going on. Harry had seen the Malfoy Corporation go through its share of threats, and Lucius had rarely acted so blandly. He usually worked quickly to catalogue the threats he could make, and his retribution was usually efficient and painful.

And while he never had to raise his voice, you always knew when Lucius was angry. Harry still remembered when he had first revealed the financial misdemeanors of Crabbe, Goyle, and some of their cohorts a few years back. Lacking the subtlety of an effective criminal, they had managed to send the company to the brink of ruin until Harry had realized just who was responsible. Crabbe and Goyle were lucky that their fathers held important contracts with the Malfoy Corporation; not all of their associates had been so fortunate. Still, that didn't mean that they were able to escape Lucius' wrath.

Harry would have expected that with Crabbe and Goyle conducting their second major theft, Lucius would be displaying the same signs of anger. His fingers should be curling menacingly around the arms of his chair; his jaw should be clenched. But at most, Lucius looked inconvenienced, bored and ready to move on with his day.

The crowd was starting to get restless, shifting around and tending loosely to their unkempt appearance as their anxiety grew. They remained silent though, waiting for Lucius to speak.

"So," Lucius said, interrupting the dreadful quiet, "you have our money?"

"Yeah—" said Goyle.

"—we do," completed Crabbe.

"And you'll give it back to us…." Lucius' voice trailed off as if he were delivering an oral "fill-in-the-blank" exam.

"—if you make Draco the heir to the corporation instead of Potter."

Harry wasn't sure what Lucius was playing at, making Crabbe and Goyle repeat everything they had just said. There as no way Lucius hadn't heard what they said, so what was he up to? Was he playing with them? Was he planning to give in to their demands?

"I see. And what makes you think Harry is going to be the new heir to the company?" Harry shifted, unhappy to suddenly become a relevant issue in this discussion.

"We—um—heard it. From someone."

"Ah," Lucius replied smoothly, "yes, yes. Of course." Lucius was talking to Crabbe and Goyle, but Harry noticed that he barely looked at the two. Except for a small glance at them when he asked them a question, Lucius' eyes seemed trained on his son. "Of course, I should note that Harry has not yet been named the heir to the company."

"Well—er—yeah."

"But we want Draco."

"You feel that Harry is so bad for this company that you would take our money and refuse to give it back unless we don't make him CEO." Lucius sat back in his chair. Crabbe and Goyle nodded their heads in unison, ready to cling to any explanation of their actions that made it seem like they had the company's best interests at heart.. "My, my, we are devising new methods of loyalty, aren't we."

The group behind Malfoy who seemed to be invested in his success looked increasingly nervous. Crabbe and Goyle were too dumb to be anxious though, and they maintained their proud stance. Malfoy, however, was too arrogant to be perturbed—at least that's what Harry decided. He remained quiet, which was the strangest aspect of all of this. Malfoy may have his cronies do all the dirty work for him, but it was unusual for him to not engage when it allowed him to publicly partake in theatrical machinations—especially when those machinations involved attacking Harry. This was his moment to be all…Malfoy. And he wasn't taking it.

"And may I ask just what about Harry is so objectionable to you? Do you feel that he would be bad for this company?"

"Er…no?"

"Do you feel that he would be a bad boss?"

"Uh…yes?"

"And why is that?"

"…because…"

"…he…um…"

"…isn't a Malfoy?" Crabbe looked hopefully at Lucius, trying to determine if he had given the right answer.

"So our rules concerning the inheritance of this company are so important to you?" Lucius' expression revealed nothing about his feelings.

"Yes!" Goyle nodded. Following rules is usually a good thing he figured, and so was trying to keep the Malfoy Corporation run by Malfoys. He had to have replied correctly! It may not surprise you to learn that Goyle didn't do that well on tests.

Lucius proceeded, giving no indication to Goyle as to whether he had answered correctly. "And just how did you get ahold of this money?" He was scanning the group behind Malfoy now, evidently piecing together what must have happened for himself.

"Um, well, we got the codes and numbers and stuff for the bank—"

"—from Dave…from accounting—"

"—and we had them on a document—"

"—and the document on a USB stick—"

"—and we gave the document to Draco—"

"—and Draco moved the money."

Dave from accounting was starting to look very sweaty. He kept running a shaky hand through his hair. Harry recognized him as one of the men he had suspected of helping Crabbe and Goyle with their first series of infractions, though he hadn't been able to prove it at the time. In fact, a lot of Malfoy's backers seemed to be people Harry had either helped get into trouble or had long suspected of malfeasance.

Lucius raised his eyebrows at the extensive information he had been given. "So you no longer have the…er…codes and numbers and stuff?"

"Well, we don't—"

"—but Draco does."

Draco didn't even bother to raise his head when his name was mentioned. He was preoccupied, scanning his cuticles for flaws. How could a guy who had apparently stolen money from his own father's company be concerned about his fingernails?

"Do you know where the money is now?"

"Of course—"

"—we have it!"

"Yes, I understood that part," Lucius said patiently, " but do you know where it is actually located."

"Yes!"

"In a bank!"

"Draco put the money in our accounts!"

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "Did he now?"

"Yes!"

"Do you mind showing me?"

"Huh?"

"The money. I'd like to see that the money is in your bank account. I would hate to agree to this deal only to find that you haven't had the money this whole time."

"Oh, we definitely have it!'

"How do you know?"

"Because Draco put the money in there!"

"Ah," Lucius said, "I see. Still, you don't get to be CEO without being cautious. Please, gentlemen, if you don't mind. I'd like to see the money." A console was in front of Lucius, and he lightly tapped on a few buttons. Immediately, the computer in front of Draco turned on while a projector screen came down.

Draco moved aside, still disinterested in the whole proceeding. Seeing Crabbe and Goyle's hesitation, Lucius looked at them and said, "Just pull up one of your guys' bank account online."

Crabbe leaned down, pulling up an internet browser and slowly typing in the website address for his bank. As he worked on logging in, Harry only felt more perplexed. Apparently, the people around him felt the same way. The murmurs became louder as none of the key players said anything. Except for Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's entourage were becoming increasingly apprehensive.

Crabbe managed to finally finish his one-finger-tapping on the keyboard. The account information loaded quickly, and the first thing that everyone noticed was that there was not remotely enough money in there to cover what had been taken. It took Crabbe and Goyle a bit longer to realize. They were too busy trying to appear impressive, and so it was only when Dave the account looked closer at the screen and asked, "Uh…Crabbe…are you sure the money is in your account?" that either of them realized that something was wrong.

Goyle quickly took control of the keyboard and logged into his account. The money didn't appear to be there either. There did, however, appear to be several charges to "~tits*R*us~*."

"So the money doesn't appear to be in either of your accounts." Lucius voice was taking on a tone that Harry usually only heard when he was closing a particularly promising deal.

"We should have the money—"

"—yeah! You should ask Draco!"

"Of course!" Lucius slapped his hand playfully on the table, smiling a dangerous smile, "I should ask Draco!"

Draco finally had the decency to lift his head slightly to look at his father. "What did you want to ask me?" He still looked incredibly bored.

"Draco, please pay attention." Lucius sounded like he was scolding Malfoy for using the wrong salad fork. Shouldn't he be grounding him or something? "I wanted to know where the company's money is. Crabbe and Goyle suggested that since they gave you the 'codes and numbers and stuff' that Dave from accounting so kindly provided, you might know where the money went."

"Oh, that. Yes. I put it in the bank."

"Could you please be more specific, Draco?"

"I put it in my account." Draco was looking down at his shirt, flicking off a small piece of lint before lifting his head to look his father in the eye.

"Your personal checking account."

"Yes, of course."

"Excellent," Lucius said, "we can take care of this now then."

Great, Harry decided, I can start looking for a new job this afternoon.

"Seems like it. Gloria's out of town though, and I usually like going to her for these things."

Huh? Gloria?

"You should have thought of that before you decided to do something like this today. I'd like that money back by 10, Draco."

Draco took a look at his watch. "Is noon ok?"

"Draco, this is a very important matter. I would like that money back as soon as possible. If you need a computer, you can use the one in my office."

"So we win then!" Everyone looked at Crabbe's happy face.

"Win?" Lucius asked.

"Yeah," Goyle said excitedly, "Draco's going to be the CEO?" Even his fellow associates were looking less apprehensive with victory so close.

"Oh, no, of course not." Everyone in the room turned to look at Lucius when he said this. And of course, their eyes quickly shifted to look at Draco, who didn't appear at all concerned.

Finally, the now famous Dave the accountant spoke up. "Wait, what?"

"My son is not inheriting this company." Harry couldn't make sense of Lucius' response. Had he missed the part of this discussion where Draco was currently holding the company hostage?

"But—" Confusion was a good look for Crabbe, if only because he had worn it for so long.

"—we had a deal?"

"Did we? Well, it appears that we don't."

"But we're not going to give back the money—"

"—unless I name Draco my heir? I'm afraid that's not up to you. If Draco is willing to give back the money, then there is nothing that you can do." Harry tried to stop staring at Lucius in complete amazement. Surely he didn't think Malfoy was going to just give back the money without accepting anything less than a future job as CEO.

The royal court that had formed at Malfoy were staring at him in desperation, but Malfoy had merely returned to analyzing his cuticles. Crabbe cautiously asked, looking down at the seated man, "Draco…you're not going to do it, are you? You're not going to just return the money…right?"

"Of course I am." Draco said it plainly. Harry stared at him, not sure he was hearing right.

"You're just going to give back the money?"

"Yes, Goyle, that's what I just said."

"But why?"

"It's the corporation's money," Malfoy said, as if that explained everything.

"But…you're not supposed to give back the money—"

"—until your dad names you the heir."

"If I wanted to inherit Malfoy Corporation, do you think I would have waited for you two to come to me with such an incredibly stupid plan to do it?" Malfoy had turned in his chair to look straight at them. His bored expression had suddenly shifted to a very focused look of disgust.

"What…what are you talking about?" Dave seemed to speaking on behalf of the entire entourage, which had regained its apprehensive air.

"I am saying, Dave," Malfoy said with an attitude that recalled Lucius' moments of quiet wrath, "that you all fucked up when you decided to follow these two buffoons."

"Draco! Language!" Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"But why would you do this?" David's voice was a painful combination of pleading and accusatory.

"Why would I try to round up a group of employees at my father's company who would be willing to resort to financial blackmail so that they can keep on being lazy, incompetent, or criminal at the company's expense? Why would I present their actions in such an easy format for the executives to see?" Draco paused, and shrugged his shoulders. "I guess it seemed like the easiest way to get you all fired."

"But…." Crabbe and Goyle were barely able to stutter out that one syllable.

"The reason you all decided to do this is because you know that when Potter takes over this company, he'll have already seen what you guys are all about. He'll know who to get rid of. You're afraid that being on track to become CEO means that he'll have the power to finally get rid of you. So don't pretend that you did this out of some great loyalty to me or the company. You only want me to be in control because you think it means that you'll be able to get away with all of your bullshit."

Lucius didn't yell at Malfoy this time to watch his language. He was watching his son with the same unreadable look while a commotion broke out behind Malfoy. Dave and several of the men around him were trying to break forward towards Malfoy. There was some incoherent yelling that sounded like "How could you!" and "You fucking asshole!" Crabbe and Goyle were still too dumbstruck to take part, which was probably the only thing that saved Malfoy in the first five seconds. They blocked the path of the oncoming attackers, giving Malfoy some time to stand up in his own defense.

In the minute that followed, Malfoy owed his physical safety to Harry's swift course through the crowd, which allowed him and several other nearby employees to help restrain the now ex-Malfoy entourage. Several large intimidating men in black suits stepped through the crowd, seizing the defeated men.

"Just take them to my office, will you?" Lucius said, waving his hand as if they were extra filing cabinets or something equally mundane and inconvenient. The offending crowd was quietly escorted out. Lucius watched them as they left through the door and then turned to face the room of executives.

"I apologize for having asked all of you here on such short notice and for such a trivial matter. As you have all heard though, we will have the money back by 10 am." Lucius' voice was authoritative and reassuring, practically demanding that everyone remain calm. "Please proceed with your day as you usually do. If there are any issues as a result of this, please alert me immediately and we will take care of them as soon as possible. Please reassure your subordinates that this matter will be taken care of immediately. I will take care of any press-related questions, so please direct all of those to me. Are there any questions?"

No one said anything at first, but as Lucius patiently scanned the crowd, one of the people spoke up. "So…what will happen to those guys?"

"I still haven't made up my mind. Nevertheless, I will take into account the fact that several of these men have been caught using this company's resources for their own means before. I assure you, they will be treated in accordance with their actions."

The crowd seemed relieved. Many of the men who had tried to instate Malfoy as the heir were not well-known for kindness or (more importantly) decent work ethic. Harry was sure that he wasn't the only one happy with the possibility of a mass firing, even if this would create new issues as they replaced the vacant spots.

"Any more questions?" Lucius looked around again. "No? Very well, then. I will go take care of those men. Draco, Harry, if you would please wait outside of my office, I would like to speak to you two afterwards. Everyone else, please go back to work."

Lucius stood up and left, his personal secretary following him while scribbling something on his tablet. When they left, the rest of the room cleared out. Harry and Draco were the last to leave, neither having any work to urgently rush to. Harry still felt a bit shell-shocked by everything that had just happened. He was kind of glad that Lucius had beckoned him to his office; he didn't feel mentally able to process real work at that moment.

There were only a few feet separating him from Malfoy, and Harry wasn't quite sure when they had gotten so close. Moving away seemed like it would only call attention to their proximity. They awkwardly looked at each other and then looked away, waiting for who would be the first to make a move. Harry started tapping a rhythm on the table, hoping that he might be able to annoy Malfoy into talking first.

In the end, Malfoy's patience proved to be stronger than Harry's will to tap incessantly. Harry gave in. "I guess we should go up now?"

"Seems like it."

The two made their way out of the conference room, navigating their way to the elevator. Harry was lost in thought, trying to figure out what had just happened in that conference room—why Malfoy was so willing to give up the chance to inherit the company. With his thoughts so fixed on Malfoy, Harry found himself forgetting that he was surrounded by excited employees. These other people fell into the background as Harry developed a hyperawareness of Malfoy's position relative to his own.

Harry became so fixated on the sensation of Malfoy walking next to him that he almost ran into a table. To avoid it, he ended up shifting right into Malfoy, feeling the warm side of the man's body brush against his own.

"Shit, Potter, look where you're walking!"

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

The elevator ride would have been ok if around forty other people hadn't decided to come in and out of it as they progressed up the building. They had been able to start out on opposite sides of the elevator, deliberately avoiding physical contact. But as people entered and exited, the two found themselves jostled closer and closer together until they were touching. Even when both of them tried to jump apart at first contact (which occurred somewhere around the seventh floor), they somehow found themselves barely separated by a millimeter.

When a particularly large crowd came in on the thirteenth floor, Malfoy's knuckles grazed Harry's, almost causing their fingers to loosely interlock. They both quickly snatched their hands away, but their exertions only resulted in an awkward chicken-like position for the both of them.

At the fifteenth floor, a person with a large cart came in, pushing everyone in the elevator to one side and causing Malfoy to stumble into Harry. Harry instinctively reached out to brace Malfoy, only to find his right hand encircling the side of Malfoy's hip. A few frantic people poured themselves into the elevator, causing Malfoy to back further into Harry. No one in the elevator seemed to notice the two men who were finding themselves increasingly entangled in each other. The whole situation was filling Harry with contradictory emotions. He couldn't move his hand away from Malfoy's hips the way he wanted to, and yet he felt an enormous sense of relief that he had an excuse to keep holding on. The feeling of Malfoy's back warm against the front of his shirt almost lulled Harry into a paradoxical sense of restless repose.

He tried to stop breathing, deciding that it would be rude (and probably kind of creepy) to be exhaling on Draco's neck. But the more he thought about not breathing, the harder it was to stop. His right thumb and index finger had mysteriously hooked themselves on top of Mafoy's belt so that he could feel the movement of Malfoy's body underneath the soft cotton of his shirt. He felt a sudden desire to run his thumb along the line of skin where Malfoy's hip met the top of his pants, just to see how the man would react.

At the seventeenth floor, Harry's attempt to stop breathing had apparently prevented oxygen from making its way to his brain. He gave in to his curiosity, slowly moving his thumb down the curve of Malfoy's hip bone. Malfoy gave almost no indication that Harry had done anything. Almost. His shift in position was so minute that only Harry, who was pressed so closely to Malfoy that he felt almost suffocated by the man's presence, perceived it. The elevator railing was pressing painfully into his back, but he barely noticed as the sensation of Malfoy moving even closer to him made it difficult to process any other feeling.

Malfoy's jacket covered Harry's hand, hiding his actions from the crowd around them. Harry hooked his thumb inside Malfoy's pants, running his finger slowly back and forth along the top edge of Malfoy's boxers. He didn't think it was possible for Malfoy to move any closer to him, but he was pretty sure that the other man's back was fully imprinted in his shirt by now. When Harry's thumb dipped underneath his boxers, the side of the finger passing along a path of smooth skin along Malfoy's hip, Malfoy's breath hitched. Harry's finger slid further down. Malfoy's neck arched slightly back so that his hair lightly touched Harry's cheek. Harry could see out of the corner of his eye that Malfoy's eyes were closed.

Harry knew that he should probably think some more about the fact that they were surrounded by his colleagues—something about "proper decorum" and "this is Malfoy of all people" came to mind—but somehow other people seemed completely irrelevant when the back of Malfoy's legs were pushing against his thighs and his—

"Fucking hell, Potter! What are you doing!" It took Harry a few seconds to realize that the elevator had just emptied out, leaving only him and Malfoy. Malfoy spun around, his arms on both sides of Harry. He was also pleased to see that Malfoy looked uncharacteristically flustered. A voice in his head warned him, "Don't look down. Don't look down." So of course, Harry looked down. He had to admit, he'd done some decent work, if the tightness in Malfoy's pants were any indication.

He slowly raised his eyes to meet Malfoy's and smiled innocently. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't play coy with me! You know what you were doing!"

A brief binging sound indicated that they had reached their destination.

"Oh, that?" Harry said, slyly looking down again before lightly brushing Malfoy's arms aside and stepping away from his grasp. "You made me get up twenty minutes earlier than I usually do, Malfoy. I guess you can call that retribution." He made his way to the elevator door and waited for it to open. As he stepped out of the elevator, feeling surprisingly cheeky, Harry turned back to look at Malfoy and smirked. "You coming?"

If it weren't for the abundance of potential witnesses around them, Harry was pretty sure Malfoy would've killed him.


	6. Chapter 6

They had been waiting in tense silence for five minutes before they were finally asked to enter Lucius' office. An exit of disgraced employees preceded them. None of them met Harry or Draco's eyes. Draco watched them coldly as they passed before entering the room. Lucius was at his desk, looking over some figures on his computer screen. When Harry and Draco entered, he quickly finished typing something and then pushed his keyboard back.

"Sit down, please."

Harry quickly looked at Draco, trying to see if he knew what was about to happen. Draco was wearing the same bored expression that he worn through most of the meeting, as if there were a million things he would rather be doing than engaging in company business. It was only after Draco sat down and turned to look at him that Harry realized that he was still standing. He quickly pulled a chair out and put himself in it. He became nervous as he waited for Lucius to speak, worried that he had disappointed his boss this morning. When Lucius finally spoke, Harry felt only mild relief.

"First of all, you might be interested to know that I just fire all of the employees who were involved with this morning's events." Harry wasn't surprised; it was just like Lucius to be efficient and strict. Lucius turned his head to focus his attention on his son. His eyes were hard, a sharp contrast from the bland expression he had held through most of the meeting. "Now, Draco, I want to know just what you were thinking!"

Draco was leaning against one arm of his chair, his hand supporting his head as he turned to look at his father. "In general? I was thinking that it would be nice to order some Chinese food tonight. I'm not sure why you're asking though. Did you have an opinion about Chinese food?" Harry stared at him, confounded at how one person could be so insolent.

Lucius' jaw was clenched. "Draco, you know what I am referring to. Please stop wasting my time; you've already wasted enough of it today."

"Oh," Draco said, raising his head, "do you mean the thing where I helped you identify a set of traitorous employees and kept your money safe and sound? I was thinking that was probably a good idea. I'm sorry if that was contrary to your goals. Did you want to lose a large amount of money?"

"I am talking, Draco," Lucius started, his tone the sort of balanced rage that usually terrified even the most competent of employees, "about the part where you decided to make a spectacle out of it."

Draco went quiet, but unlike most people, he displayed no fear in the presence of Lucius' anger. One of his hands was passing along the chair's armrest, his finger tracing patterns on the smooth wood. Harry found himself recalling the feeling of Draco's skin against his finger, and the thought of tracing similar patterns down Draco's body crossed his mind. He quickly shut out those thoughts, reminding himself that the events that had transpired in the elevator were the result of shock and oxygen deprivation. As far as he was concerned, Malfoy was not an object of sexual fantasy. He was an asshole who had only temporarily proven to be a trustworthy guy.

Plus, the presence of Lucius in the room made Harry feel like maybe he should remove any thoughts of his boss' son in a sexually comprising position from his head.

"Draco, I am waiting for your explanation."

Draco's finger paused. "I don't know what you want, Father. Crabbe and Goyle came to me. I learned their plan, and then I made it so that their plan wouldn't work. What would you have me do differently?"

"I would have you handle it with some decorum!" Lucius stopped and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, he looked like he was trying to calm himself down. He turned to Harry. "Harry, what would you have done differently?"

"Sir?"

"If you had been in Draco's position, how would you have responded when Crabbe and Goyle came to you with a plan to make you the CEO of this company?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, hesitating to answer. The truth was there were a million different ways he would've handled it, and none of them seemed to involve anything Malfoy had done. "I would have gone to you first, sir. I would have told you that two employees had approached me with knowledge of how to obtain the company's money, and that they were seeking to steal this money so that you would be forced to make me the heir."

"And would you have held a large meeting so that you could carry out this drama in front of an audience?"

"Well, no, sir. I suppose that I would be afraid that such a course of action might disturb many of the stockholders. Plus, I would hope to take care of the matter without any money going missing."

"Thank you, Harry." Lucius looked back at Draco. "See, Draco, this is what I am trying to get at. Your actions were reckless, and you have made public an affair that could have been dealt with just as effectively in the privacy of this office. What reason could you possible have for doing things the way you did?" Draco refused to respond. He was staring distantly out of the window, not even acknowledging that the conversation was even taking place. "Draco! I am asking you a question!"

Draco looked back at his father. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." His voice was void of emotion.

Harry decided to speak up. "Excuse me, sir."

Lucius turned his head quickly to look at Harry again. "Yes?"

"I just…I feel that maybe Ma—Draco's plan wasn't so bad." Harry wasn't sure why he was saying any of this. He shouldn't really feel the need to stand up for Malfoy. But something had occurred to him, and he felt the need to share it. "I think it might even have been more effective than the one I would have undertaken."

Lucius was clearly perplexed by Harry's response. Draco seemed nervous about having Harry's approval. "Really, Harry. And why do you say this?"

"Well, we could have done this in private, as you or I would likely have done, and everything would have gone smoothly. However, this approach would not help us address the bigger problems."

"Which are?"

"That there are people who haven't accepted that Draco will not be the CEO of this company. That there are people who don't want me as CEO. That there are people who have maintained positions in this company solely through connections and not through merit. That there are people who know that Draco and I, while potentially on the verge of engagement, are not particularly close and would seek to take advantage of this fact."

Harry paused, glancing at Draco only to see that his uneasy expression had not changed. "By making Crabbe and Goyle's actions so public, Draco has made it impossible for them continue working here no matter what connection they have. Their father's know that their contracts, while valuable, are not worth the cost of two employees who have twice proven to have no loyalty to this company. With the stockholders aware of Crabbe and Goyle's actions, their fathers are basically forced to accept any decision you make regarding their sons. Plus, Draco isn't an employee of this company and we know that this isn't how you would have handled the affair, so they can't accuse you of setting this whole thing up."

"In addition, Draco has ensured that no one will seek to take advantage of any discord between the two of us again. He has made it known that he will make no claim for his inheritance, and he has given my position in this company more legitimacy. Making this whole situation public, while risky, has sent a message about the future of this company. Any unease the stockholders may feel about the fact that a large sum of money went missing can be assuaged by the knowledge that there will be no conflict over who will inherit this company."

"Good job, Potter," Draco replied. "You didn't even have Hermione here to help you."

Lucius contemplated Draco, taking in Harry's explanation and fitting it in with what he knew of his son. "I suppose you're right, Harry." He nodded briefly in Draco's direction, but offered no further words on the subject and instead abruptly dismissed them. "Well, then. Thank you both for coming in. I'm sure you both have work that you need to be returning to." Draco and Harry stood up and headed towards the door when Lucius' voice sounded across the room. "Oh, and Draco. Please remember to return the money by 10."

*****

 

"Malfoy, can I talk to you?"

As soon as he was free to leave his father's office, Draco had raced out and made a beeline for the elevator. He turned to look at Harry, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he considered the question. "No. Not really."

Employees were filing in and out of the halls. Harry looked around at them, contemplating how much physical force he could apply when he was surrounded by witnesses. Before Draco could react, Harry grabbed his arm and dragged him through the crowd.

"Hey! What are you doing!" Harry didn't reply, even as people around them looked on. Draco wanted to call out for help, but everyone seemed to want to see just how this was going to end. Harry dragged him to an office at the end of the hallway, reaching into his pocket with his free hand and opening the door. Only when they were inside the room and he had locked the door did Harry release his grip.

Draco took in the sparse room. There was only a desk, a chair, and a few empty shelves. A few files were littered across the desk. Walking towards the desk, he asked, "Is this your office, Potter? Because I think you can ask for something a little bit nicer."

Harry crossed his arms. "It's a temporary office. I'm sorry that it's not up to your standards."

"You should be," Draco said imperiously. "'Temporary' is no excuse for 'boring.'"

Harry ignored this pronouncement. "I want to know what's going on, Malfoy. Why aren't you inheriting this company?"

"Are you seriously still harping on about that?"

"Yes!"

Draco started playing with some pencils on Harry's desk. "Why? You know now that I'm not going to try to take your job." He moved on to some files, idly shuffling through the pages. "I'm not setting a trap for you. None of this is part of some elaborate Machiavellian scheme that involves me going through the inconvenience of getting married just so that I can make a fool of you."

"You say that like you've never schemed to make a fool out of me." Harry was watching Draco carefully, analyzing his movements as if they could help him understand Draco's motivations.

"Oh, I've thought up tons of ways to ridicule you. I've executed some of them too. I'll remind you that they've all gone beautifully." Draco turned around and smirked at Harry's grimace. "But the only thing I like about weddings are the booze and the cake, so why would I go through the ordeal of a massive party filled with people I don't like just to fuck with you?"

Harry stepped forward so that he was now only a few feet away from Draco. "What's wrong with you?" His voice rose as he spoke, making his growing frustration.

Draco ignored the tightness in Harry's jaw and his threatening proximity. "What? Are you disappointed that I'm not going to be a blushing bride? I should warn you, I'm not a virgin either. No bloody sheets for us to display in the morning."

"I stood up for you." Harry was moving forward again. He had uncrossed his arms, and now his fists were clenching as he walked towards Draco. "I actually took your side, which never happens. In front of my boss, of all people. And what? Now you're going to get snarky with me? You owe me an answer!" Potter was directly in front of Draco now, his hands on the desk so that Draco was trapped against it.

"I'm sorry, did you want me to bow down and swear my undying loyalty as a sign of my gratitude? 'First I was afraid! I was petrified! But then I remembered that I had Potter by my side!'" Draco faked a swoon, sliding onto the desk as he did it in an attempt to create some distance between Harry and himself. "Help me, Obi Potter Kenobi, you're my only hope!"

"Fine," Harry said, leaning away slightly, "next time, I'll leave you be."

Draco was starting to regret his decision to sit down, resenting the fact that he had to look up to talk to Potter. "Whatever. You think I haven't played this game of 'Anything you can do, Potter can do better' before. I've defended myself plenty of times without you, but I stopped giving a shit ages ago. I have better things to do than devote every moment of my day to proving that I'm just as capable as you."

"Is that why you're not going to be CEO? Does your dad not think that you're capable?"

Draco laughed contemptuously. "Look, Potter, let's get one thing straight: if I wanted to be CEO, I would be CEO."

"What does that even mean?" Harry was pressing harder against the desk, as if applying pressure to furniture were the same thing as applying pressure to Draco.

"It means that I don't want your job. I don't even what this company."

"Then why are you doing this?" Harry's voice was rising again in exasperation. "Why are you doing any of this? Why are you so…ok…with this whole arranged marriage thing?"

"Because," Draco stated, avoiding Harry's eyes, "if it's not you, then it's just going to be someone else."

Harry backed up a fraction of an inch. "What?"

Fuck, Draco thought. This was more than he had ever wanted to tell Potter. The idea of Potter knowing specifics about his personal life made him want to punch a wall. He tried to stand up, willing to sacrifice the temporary moment of torture that would be brushing against Potter's body so that he could finally put an end to the conversation. Harry leaned back, and for a second, Draco hoped that maybe he would be allowed to escape. That hope didn't last long.

Harry's hands were suddenly pressed hard on his wrists, forcing Draco to sit down again and look up into the disconcertingly green eyes of his rival. Except for his hands, not a single inch of Harry was actually touching Draco, yet Draco could feel Potter against every inch of him. He resented their current position, annoyed by the sensation of submitting to Potter's physical will. But a small part of him that he tried to suppress was excited by their proximity. Draco tried not to think back on the feeling of Potter's fingers caressing his skin, but the smell of Potter's soap was forcing the very fresh memory of the elevator into his head. Draco quickly averted his eyes, afraid that Potter would somehow be able to see that was thinking about what had taken place only a short while ago.

He tried to distract himself by devising ways out of this situation. Potter could press him up against a desk, that didn't mean he was going to learn anything about Draco. Eventually, his arms would tire out, and he'd have to let Draco go. Yes, attrition warfare would be the way to go.

"Tell me, Malfoy." Potter's voice was low, threatening, and strangely exciting.

The part of Draco's brain that wasn't undergoing complete failure desperately clung to another strategy: stalling. "Can I ask you a question first?"

Harry stared at him, contemplating whether he should really give in to any of Malfoy's demands. He was still pinning Draco down, and there seemed to be no possibility of reprieve. "Fine. But you'll finally answer my question after? No tricks."

Draco smiled. "Sure."

Harry waited a few seconds before acquiescing. "What's your question?"

"Well, earlier, in the elevator, you said that today I made you wake up twenty minutes earlier than you usually do."

"Yes…." Harry seemed afraid to answer, worried that he was about to stumble into a trap.

"So I was just wondering why you look as unkempt today as you do every other day. What is it about waking up an extra twenty minutes earlier and actually tending to your appearance that is so terrifying to you?"

"The prospect of doing anything that might be remotely pleasing to you," Harry replied quickly. "You've asked your question, now it's your turn to answer mine."

"Wait, Potter. I feel like we should explore this further. You could benefit greatly from my experience."

Suddenly, Harry wasn't a foot away from Draco. He was barely even an inch away. He had stepped in, fitting himself between Draco's legs. The inside of Draco's quads became warmer as they grazed the sides of Harry's hips. Harry maintained his strong grasp on Draco's hands, pushing them back slightly so that Draco was forced to arch his back. Before Draco could process the numerous ways in which Potter's body was contacting his own, he was startled by the sound of Potter's voice so close to his ear.

"Answer. The. Fucking. Question." Potter's lips were barely grazing his ear, his warm breath caressing the skin behind Draco's ears. The gentleness of this touch was more threatening than the harsh tone of his voice.

Draco was trying to think of ways to combat this new tactic, but he was feeling decidedly outmatched. Potter was physically restraining him, and somehow, this was the most exhilarating feeling Draco had experienced in recent memory. No one had ever treated Draco like this. He was always a museum piece to the people who had been allowed the privilege of such close proximity, accorded the delicate treatment given to those who are considered too aristocratic for pedestrian handling. But Potter's grasp was rough, his touch irreverent. And it was doing serious damage to Draco's restraint.

In what Draco initially thought was a moment of brilliance, he came up with a strategy to avoid talking about himself. Draco turned his head slightly. Slowly, he started laying a trail of kisses starting from the point where Potter's shirt collar met his neck. Harry froze immediately, but he didn't pull away. Draco continued his way up. When he reached the point where Harry's neck gave way to his jaw, he lightly sunk his teeth into the skin.

Harry exhaled sharply. "Malfoy, stop it!" Still, he didn't move his head, and Draco could feel the increasingly labored breathing against his neck.

Draco moved on. The taste of Potter's skin on his lips was distracting him from his original purpose. All he could recall at this point was that it was important that he not stop. He kissed the skin beneath Potter's ear before deciding to claim a better prize. He began to make his way down the length of Potter's ear. When he reached the lobe, he bit down and lightly sucked on it.

Harry tried to stifle his moan, but he wasn't fast enough. His body pressed urgently against Draco's as he put up one final stand. "Malfoy, this…this isn't going to work." His voice was shaky with an emotion Draco had never heard out of Potter before.

"Really, Potter?" Draco whispered into the man's ear. "You shouldn't be so insecure. Right now it seems like everything is working just fine." He grinded his hips against Potter's for emphasis.

That was the last straw for Harry. He suddenly let go of one of Draco's wrists. Before Draco could understand what was going on, Harry had managed to grab both of his wrists with one hand and hold them in place behind Draco's back, forcing him to arch even more into Potter's body. Potter wove his free hand into Draco's hair and lowered his head until he was kissing Draco with a ferocity he had never experienced before.

This was nothing like their drunken peck on the couch. No, this was something far more important to Draco's survival. Potter's lips were soft, which only emphasized the roughness of his kiss. His tongue entered Draco's mouth, compelling him to keep up as the kiss deepened. Harry's hand left Draco's hair and grabbed the knot of Draco's tie. He slowly dragged his hand down the tie, his knuckles grazing the length of Draco's body. Draco instantly regretted his decision to put on a shirt that morning. He wanted to feel Potter's hand against his skin again, but the asswipe was taking his precious time.

Draco wanted to touch Potter, if only to level the playing field, but he had a feeling that Potter wouldn't release him from his current position. Instead, Draco touched Potter the only way he could. Wrapping his legs loosely around the bottom of Potter's, he pulled Potter closer into him. Slowly, he began to rock his hips into Potter's, establishing a slow rhythm that had them both groaning into their kiss.

Potter un-tucked Draco's shirt and let his hand briefly wander underneath, but they quickly left. Draco leaned upwards in protest, but Potter refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he pulled down Draco's jacket, letting it stop at Draco's captured wrists. His hand quickly returned to work on Draco's tie, undoing the knot and tossing the strip of silk aside. His fingers began to work down the length of buttons on Draco's shirt. With each undone button, he let his index finger slide down the newly revealed skin as he progressed to the next button until finally, he had reached the end. His fingers danced along the edge of Draco's pants, causing Draco's muscles to tighten. He pulled urgently at Draco's belt buckle so that Draco's hips were grinding harder against his own.

As Potter's hand made its way back up Draco's now bare chest, he lowered his head to Draco's neck. Any semblance of thought that existed in Draco's head vanished as Potter's fingers began to trace an abstract pattern across his chest and down his abdomen while his lips toyed with the skin on Draco's neck. Potter reached beneath the now un-tucked and unbuttoned shirt to sweep up to the top of Draco's back, pressing them even closer together. Draco became aware of the muscles in Potter's body, hard against his body and wrapped between his legs. The feeling of the smooth silk tie and shirt against his own bare chest both excited and frustrated Draco. He wanted to yell at Potter to stop being such an inconsiderate git and take the damn shirt off, but every time he tried to speak, he found it difficult to form words.

As his finger slowly travelled down the length of Draco's spine, Potter began to return Draco's rhythm so that they were grinding against each other, trying to get closer and closer. When Potter's finger reached the base of Draco's spine, Draco let out an involuntary shiver and breathed out a moan. Potter returned his lips to Draco's, and the two hurriedly resumed from where their tongues had last left off.

Draco knew that this didn't make any sense. What was happening in Potter's office defied every rule of nature he held dear. He shouldn't be on Potter's desk with his hands held behind his back and his jacket and shirt in open disarray while Potter remained fully clothed and apparently completely in control. Nor should Draco find it this difficult to use the English language. That was not how this was supposed to go.

Not that Draco knew how this was supposed to go. He supposed that he should be engaged in a fistfight, claiming victory as Potter tended to a bloody nose. Or declaring himself ruler of all while Potter cried in a corner. But the thrill of defeating his old rival didn't seem to match the current excitement of Potter's body thrusting against his own.

Out of nowhere, the telephone on the desk rang. Harry ignored it, making a valiant effort to pretend that the shrill noise wasn't real. Draco didn't dissuade him from this notion. Still, by the fifth ring, Harry couldn't take it anymore. With an angrily muttered, "Fuck!" Harry let go of Draco's body and walked around the desk to answer the phone.

"Yes?" Harry's voice was edged with frustration. Draco ignored the conversation. He tried to calm his nerves, only to find himself wanting to yank the phone away from Potter so that he could yell at whoever had the audacity to call. He distracted himself instead, slipping the jacket off his arms so that he could first put his shirt back on. He found his tie a crumpled mess on the floor. Potter was talking rapidly into the phone; there was no longer any sign that he had just pinned Draco down to a table and proceeded to furiously make out with him. That initial frustration had given way to an authoritative tone Draco remembered envying in high school. Whatever Potter was demanding at this moment, he was probably going to get it.

Draco finished dressing as Potter wrapped up his conversation. Draco stretched out his arms, realizing that having them pinned behind your back isn't necessarily the most comfortable position to be in. Harry looked at him, raising his eyebrows as Draco rubbed his wrists.

"Fucking hell, Potter. Do you have some kind of domination fetish or something?"

"If I recall correctly, everything that just happened was your fault." Harry was looking directly at Draco, his fingertips resting lightly on the desk.

"Really? Are you sure? Because I don't remember telling you to restrain me." Draco held up his wrists for extra emphasis.

"You say that as if you didn't enjoy it."

Draco didn't respond to Potter's claim. They both knew just how much Draco had enjoyed it. "Oh! Maybe you have an office sex thing. Is that it? I mean, first, the elevator. Then this? I think we're finally starting to establish a general trend here."

Potter's eyes narrowed. "Shut it, Malfoy."

"No, seriously, Potter. If we're going to spend years engaged in passionless lovemaking, this is the kind of thing I ought to know." Draco crossed his arms and smiled smugly as if he had just proven an excellent point.

"Shut the fuck up."

"But—"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter said, leaning forward, his palms flat on the desk, "or we'll find out just how deep this office domination fetish goes."

A small shiver worked its way down Draco's body. He softly licked his lower lip and realized that Potter was staring at him. The two men stood there in silence, neither wanting to acquiesce to their internal demands to resume what they had been doing pre-cock-block.

"I'm…uh…I'm just going to go now." Draco started walking towards the door.

"Wait." Harry was still standing behind the desk when Draco turned around. "It's still your turn."

Draco stared at him, amazed that Potter was still persisting. He contemplated the pros and cons of explaining his life choices to a man he had no kinship with and yet who was becoming an obnoxiously important presence in Draco's life. "I made a deal."

"Yes," Harry replied, "I know we made a deal. Now it's your turn to hold up your end of it."

"No, you imbecile. I mean that I made a deal with my father. I didn't want to be CEO; he didn't want me to not be CEO. Halfway through college, I decided that there were other things I would rather do than be involved with the company. My parents weren't so happy about that though. Something about 'responsibility to the family.' So we came to an agreement."

Harry stood up, realization crossing his face. "You're not saying…."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. We agreed that in exchange for giving up the responsibility inherent to being a Malfoy heir, I would do one last thing for the company." Draco paused. "I'd let my parents marry me off to the strategically beneficial suitor of their choice."

Potter didn't say anything. Draco suddenly felt ridiculous. To be standing here with a man he hated and who just had his hands up his shirt, relaying parts of his life that he hadn't told anyone…it was just so absurd. He suddenly felt angry with Potter for everything. He was angry about the ride up the elevator, the conversation in his father's office, and the long session on the desk. He was angry that he was in a position where his personal life was becoming so intertwined with Potter's that he had no choice but to divulge details of it to a man he had hoped to never see again. And most of all, he was angry over how little control he had over the entire situation.

Draco turned towards the door and left before Potter could say anything to him.

After Draco left, Harry knew that something had changed. It was like the entire purpose of this day was to force him into a decision. And here he was, seated again in Lucius' office, making a decision he never thought he would be asked to make.

"So, Harry, you said you had something to tell me?"

Harry swallowed, nervous that he was making the wrong choice. "Yeah…I mean, yes." He waited a few seconds, working up the courage to finish what he had came to do. "I made up my mind. I'll do it. I'll marry Draco."


	7. Chapter 7

The day had started out fine, or at least as fine as it can be when you have to spend it at Alumni Weekend, schmoozing with former high school classmates who are now employed in jobs you can't muster an ounce of interest in despite their enthusiastic descriptions of every mundane detail of their day. Oh, you work in mergers and acquisitions? The highlight of your career so far is that you got your business card to be that perfect shade of white to complement the font that spells out your name and position? How fascinating….

Draco wasn't sure why he'd decide to come to this thing anymore. It was a good thing Blaise and Pansy were there or he would have spent the whole time planning the death of every individual present. But despite all of their good qualities, Blaise and Pansy had the unfortunate habit of socializing with everyone who came up to them. Where Draco would prefer to use short answers like "Yeah" and "I guess" to dissuade any further conversation, those two talked and smiled and laughed like there was nothing else that they would rather be doing. As a result, he had been subjected to the company of two consultants, five people working for start-ups, and one trophy wife before he decided to get up and take a walk.

Thank god for free alcohol.

It probably wasn't a great idea to be drinking, not when there was the promise of a soccer game in a few hours. But it also seemed like a bad idea to try to interact with these people without raising the alcohol concentration in his bloodstream. Plus, alcohol that is free must be readily consumed; that was practically law as far as Draco was concerned.

A student orchestra was playing in the background as alumni of varying ages wandered about. The school was trying to show off its students in any way that it could. One room was filled with posters presentations about ancient civilizations and dioramas of major historical events. The next classroom played house to a poetry reading. Draco glanced in but quickly left. Angsty teenage poetry about the meaning of life took on a certain level of absurdity when encased in the uniform of a prestigious prep school, and Draco was sure he would break out in fit of hysterical laughter if he stayed.

Outside, tables were lined up with impressive displays set out by various clubs. The Community Service Club was proudly talking about their recent trip to Guatemala, rehearsing their stories for future college interviews. The Robotics Club was merrily playing with a set of impressive battle robots as members of the Math Club picked sides. The Future Business Leaders table was eagerly trying to attract the attention of the alumni; networking is a skill best learned early, before the self-awareness and shame set it. Draco smirked at their table, amused that these kids were so desperately trying to acquire the sort of connections he had amassed by the age of five and then casually tossed aside for the glamorous lifestyle of a graduate student.

But then he saw the telltale mop of black hair surrounded by the typical mob of adoring fans. None of the students had been at the school when Potter was there, but his fame had endured long past graduation. Even other alumni were crowding around him like a pack of tweens outside of N'Sync concert. (Or was it Justin Bieber now?) It had been a little over a week since Harry had decided to accept Lucius' offer, and even though the marital aspects of the arrangement weren't widely known, the fact that Harry would one day be CEO was. If Potter was a respected figure before, he was practically worshipped now.

Watching the crowd of respected businessmen and wide-eyed teenagers absorb Potter's presence, Draco felt the muscles in his arm tighten. After all, this should be him. He should be the one basking in the admiration of his peers. He should be the young, successful businessman with a future most people could only dream of. The sight of Potter enjoying the attention Draco would have gotten was enough to make him reconsider his life choices. Maybe he shouldn't have told his parents that he didn't want to be the CEO of Malfoy Corporation. Maybe he shouldn't have decided to go to grad school. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to let his parents decide his future spouse for him.

All it took was one look from Potter to remind Draco that he had made the right decision. The vivid green flashed through the crowd, locking on Draco. Draco stared calmly back, refusing to break eye contact. As he looked at Potter, he realized that no matter how unhappy he was with the idea of marrying the man, Draco was happier than if he'd decided to work for his father. He would have been perfectly capable taking on his father's role. Hell, he'd be better than Potter. But that didn't mean that he would actually enjoy it. No one else might understand his decision, but that didn't matter. All that mattered to Draco was that he knew where he wanted to be and how he was going to get there. If he had to marry Potter along the way, then so be it. At least he would get close to the life he wanted.

Harry looked away, caught off guard by an enthusiastic prattling student. Ever since what Draco liked to call the "incident" on Potter's desk, neither of them had engaged in any real conversation. With the exception of a few meetings to sign contracts that Draco used as time to catch up on homework, they had managed to completely avoid each other. Even in the meetings, they interacted as little as possible. Eye contact was to be avoided at all costs, and physical contact was strictly forbidden. But in those meetings, even as he tried to focus on the problem set in front of him and shut out the noise of lawyers around him, Draco found himself distracted by the memory of Potter's fingers on his body and his lips on his neck.

Every time those images worked their way into Draco's head, he tried to shove them out by thinking about an aspect of his most recent experiments that was frustrating him. With this strategy, he had managed to avoid connecting what had actually happened with the hypothetical fantasy that could have followed had the phone not rang. That one time in the shower when even the contemplation of the best pH to run a certain reaction could not distract him from imagining the feeling of Potter's mouth wrapped around his cock totally didn't count. Needless to say, the self-cleaning capability of the shower came in handy. But as far as Draco was concerned, what a man did in the privacy of his own shower was not to be included in the assessment of his overall feelings.

Draco turned and quickly walked away, not wanting to be in Potter's presence any longer. Circular tables with elegant centerpieces that made Draco think of beach weddings filled the courtyard, and Draco found himself twisting and turning his hips to avoid walking into chairs and the occasional person. After narrowly stepping avoiding path of a rabid alumni relations representative, Draco made it to the science building. Inside, the parade of student work continued. Models of chemical compounds and demonstrations of different physical concepts populated the main hallway. In one corner, an intrepid group of freshmen were staging an interpretive dance of the water cycle. Draco was trying to decipher their hula-esque moves when a scent that was becoming achingly familiar overwhelmed him.

"I thought you weren't coming."

Draco refused to look at Potter. "I said that I was considering not coming. But I haven't bought groceries in a while, so I figured that I would show up and get some free food."

Harry seemed incredulous. "You go grocery shopping?"

"Yes. You see, Potter, that's how I feed myself."

Harry went silent, the image of Draco pushing a grocery cart working its way through his head. He followed Draco's gaze to watch the dancers. "I can't believe Mr. Goldsbury still makes them do that dance."

"I know. I thought he would have realized years ago that the 'evaporation' choreography is pathetic," Draco said critically.

Harry laughed. "Wow, you really are a nerd now, aren't you?" Draco could hear the smirk in Potter's voice.

"I know that intelligence is a trait to which you can never aspire to, Potter," Draco said, assessing what was now the "precipitation" stage of the water cycle dance, "but some of us do in fact strive to use our brains for tasks more complex than eating and breathing."  
Harry ignored Draco's insult. "I'm just saying that I would never have thought you'd grow up to be some kind of science nerd."

"I bet you never thought I'd grow up to be your husband either," Draco said sarcastically.

"No," Harry replied thoughtfully, "I guess not."

Draco decided that a change of subject was in order. "So are you going to play later?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Of course." Draco turned and smiled at Harry. "Don't be too devastated when you lose."

"They haven't even decided the teams yet, Malfoy."  
"Doesn't matter. Whatever team has you is bound to lose."

"Are you suggesting that if we're on the same team, you aren't good enough to outweigh my supposed incompetence?"

"I'm saying that you are a vortex of suckitude that cannot be escaped."

Harry sighed. "Well, I guess we are in high school again."

An enthusiastic feminine voice sounded suddenly behind them. "Harry? Harry, is that you?"

Draco and Harry both turned around to see a beautiful woman approaching them. Harry's face immediately broke into a large smile. "Cho!" Cho walked faster towards him, her silky black hair trailing behind her as if she spent her days in a shampoo commercial, and gave him a hug.

When they broke apart, Cho finally noted Draco's presence. She quickly hid her confusion and held out her hand. "Draco, how are you?"

Draco graciously shook her hand. Inside, he was laughing. Witnessing Harry make a fool out of himself in front of Cho had once been a favorite pastime of this. She had been a year above them, part of that mysterious contingent of "older girls" that entranced the younger students. Watching as Harry stumbled over his feet or lost control of the English language around her had been a frequent and gratifying experience for Draco. And when he heard that Harry had asked Cho to a dance, only to learn that she had agreed to go with Cedric Diggory the day before, Draco had found himself unable to breathe for several minutes because he was so busy laughing. Now, as Draco's frustration with Potter's reintroduction into his life grew, the fates seemed to smile at him, offering a chance to witness another Potter-Cho interaction in return for all the other bullshit.

Of course, Potter wasn't quite as awkward as he had been in high school. Whatever he had done during his college years seem to have worked for him, and he seemed almost capable of sustaining a conversation with a woman he'd had a crush on for years. The two were chatting excitedly about Cho's new job and the highlights of their college experiences while Draco watched. Harry seemed to maintain his composure, but every now and then, Harry stumbled over a word or seemed confused about what to do with his hands. Draco treasured those moments.

Out of a dark corner of the room, a shadowy figure emerged and walked towards them. Draco smiled when he saw who it was.

"Snape! How are you?"

The smile on Harry's face dropped immediately. In that moment, Draco decided that he had acquired enough evidence to support the existence of a caring god; surely divine intervention was the only explanation for why Harry's crush and most hated teacher had congregated in the same spot for Draco's viewing pleasure.

Snape coldly looked at Harry and Cho before replying to Draco. They quickly tuned out Cho and Harry's conversation, instead choosing to focus on the finer aspects of Draco's research. Snape was one of the few teachers who didn't have any students showing off silly models and dances, probably because he was one of those teachers who refused to believe that "fun" enhanced learning. Asking Snape to show off what his classes were like would likely involve students crying over the terrible grade they had just received.

When they found themselves in a lull in the conversation, Snape turned to Harry. "So, Mr. Potter, I've heard that you've been promoted." His tone was flat, lacking the enthusiastic flattery that usually accompanies such a statement.

"No way, Harry, you didn't tell me that!" Cho was looking at Harry with admiration, a complete contrast from the skeptical look on Snape's face.

Harry seemed embarrassed. "No, it's um…nothing yet. It won't take place for a while." He looked at Draco as if he expected him to intervene. Draco just crossed his arms and grinned.

"Well, Draco, I hope you've cashed in all of your investments in the company. I would hate to hear one day that you lost all of your money because of Potter's incompetence."

"Don't worry, sir," Draco assured Snape, "I already have a contingency plan in place." Snape let a small smile appear on his face, the closest he would probably ever get to actual laughter.

A loud noise erupted behind them, catching everyone's attention. A student's model of deuterium had apparently been too heavy for the string it was hanging from and landed on a 50-year-old alum's head. Snape quickly excused himself to scold the student.

"What's his problem?" Cho asked Harry. "Why is he so mean to you?"

"Because Potter sucks at chemistry," Draco replied on Harry's behalf. "Snape found his understanding of the period table offensive and has never forgiven him for it." If it weren't for the crowd of adults, Harry would probably have stuck his tongue out at Draco. Or punched him in the gut.

Cho looked between the two of them, the juxtaposition of two men with such a deep-rooted enmity hitting her. "Um, not to be rude, Draco, but is there a reason you're…um…here?"

"The pleasure of Potter's company," Malfoy said, shrugging as he looked around at the other students.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't mind, Malfoy. He's been having a hard time adjusting to the idea of acting like a decent human being for the past twenty-three years."

"Uh huh…." Cho looked even more confused than she had been. "Um, is there something going on between you guys?"

Draco and Harry looked at each other with similar grossed-out expressions. "No!" The vehement declaration had passed Harry's lips before Draco could respond.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything. It's just weird to see you two talking to each other as opposed to—"

"—me insulting Potter until he's been reduced to a meaningless speck of existence?"

"Er…yeah…."

Just then, Blaise found his way through a crowd of presentations about the environment. Blaise stood between Harry and Draco, hanging his arms casually around their shoulders. "So how's the happy couple doing?"

Draco wanted to punch Blaise. It was one thing to be engaged to Potter, it was another thing to have to admit it publicly. Harry shot Draco an accusatory glare.

Cho looked terrified of the camaraderie implied by Blaise's actions. "Um, what's going on?"

Blaise ignored the death stares Draco was aiming at him. "Haven't you heard? These two are getting married!" He jovially slapped them both on the shoulder, enjoying the uncomfortable position he was putting them both in. It's not often that you get to out your friend's impending marriage to a guy he once tried to push into a vat of chocolate during a school field trip to a local factory. He didn't seem to notice the crestfallen look on Cho's face, even when he asked her, "So, how's Cedric doing? I haven't seen that guy in ages."

"He's…um…he's doing ok. He couldn't be here this weekend. Busy with work." There was something strained in her voice, which surprised Draco. As far as his most recent Facebook excursion had told him, Cho and Cedric were still happily together, as evidenced by the frequent declarations of "i 3 cedric!" followed by endless comments along the lines of "no i 3 you more!"

Blaise still seemed oblivious to the confused look on Cho's face. He let go of Harry and Draco. "Well, I just came over to find you two. The game is starting soon. You two should probably get changed now."

The three left, Harry offering a meek smile to Cho as he hugged her. They headed over to the alumni relationships building, grabbing their bags before heading over to the locker rooms. A cheer went up as various former teammates caught sight of them from around the locker room.

Draco saw Blaise tense up next to him and followed his gaze to see a shirtless Oliver Wood in front of them. Smirking, Draco pushed Blaise towards their old captain. "Why don't you take that empty bench next to Wood, Blaise," Draco said, wearing a sickeningly sweet smile. "Potter and I can find somewhere else to change." Blaise sent him a withering look. Draco just barely maintained his look of innocence.

As Harry and Draco walked to another set of lockers, Harry whispered to Draco, "What was that all about?" Draco winked in response, causing Harry to turn back and see Blaise nervously glancing at Oliver. Turning back to Draco, he muttered an incredulous, "No way!"

"Yeah." Draco wanted to laugh at the dumbstruck look on Harry's face.

"Aren't they on rival teams?" They rounded a corner and finally found an empty set of benches.

"Of course," Draco answered, setting his bag down. "Car windows have been broken in the name of that rivalry. Personally, I like to think of it as poetic."

"Or you like to think of it as a way to make him uncomfortable in public after he did it to you," Harry replied knowingly.

"You know, Potter, sometimes I think I'm going to have to kill you in your sleep before you have me all figured out."

It was difficult to have this uneasy truce, Draco decided. It was simpler to just be enemies. But when he looked over and saw Harry take off his shirt, he knew that there was a small part of him that didn't mind the changing dynamic between the two of them. Blaise was right: Harry really had grown into a pleasant set of muscles. Draco was busy evaluating the lines created by the muscles in Harry's shoulder when Harry looked up. Draco quickly looked away and hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt. He could still feel Harry looking at him, making him flush as he remembered again what it had felt like to have Potter's hands on his chest.

He made eye contact with Harry, and this time it was Harry's turn to quickly look away and resume changing. This pattern continued. As they removed clothing, both men tried to sneak glances at each other without getting caught. The other men in the locker room were chatting loudly, completely ignorant of the tension arising in Draco and Harry's corner.

When they walked up the steps to the field, a wave of nostalgia hit Draco. It was weird that after spending the day in and out of old classrooms and talking to former classmates, it was just now that he felt drawn back to his school. He jogged a few laps, feeling the clarity that comes with running. He felt calm, peaceful almost.

And then they put Draco and Harry on opposite teams

Draco couldn't say he was displeased by the notion of playing against Potter. After all those years being forced to cooperate and remembering not to beat the shit out of each other on the field because they were on the same team, they finally got a chance to play against each other. Harry looked like he was as excited by the opportunity as much as he was.

The game started off decently enough. Harry's team had managed to get the ball early and was pressing close to the goal. Harry moved masterfully through the field, dribbling past players and passing to his teammates with the same speed and skill he'd displayed long before. But before his team could score a goal, Draco's team managed to get the ball and pushed back. Both teams kept at this light back and forth for a while, easing into rhythm of the game.

But as both teams managed to figure out their internal workings, the proceedings slowly became more aggressive. Shirts were pulled, feet were tripped, and bodies were shoved. Occasionally, people got called out for a particular vicious attack, but for the most part, people merely continued playing. No one seemed to notice that Harry and Draco were acting particularly reckless with each other. It was practically expected for those two.

Draco was quite pleased to be the first person to score a goal. It had involved a sequence of tricky maneuvers around several players and a few well-placed passes. He might have had to push Harry out of the way to make it, but that was just a part of the game. Harry's team quickly countered, storming up the field with Harry leading the way. Draco quickly ran at Harry, trying to impede his path. The two were locked in a moment of struggle, but Harry managed to pass the ball on to another teammate before running forward to score a goal.

As the game went on, Draco and Harry took advantage of every opportunity they could to hurt each other. It felt good, Draco decided, to have their physical interaction revert back to its origins. He didn't have to deal with the confusion of desperately wanting Potter to touch him. No, there was nothing confusing about repeatedly body checking Potter. The desire to push Potter aside and resorting to violence to do it was a familiar comfort.

They were halfway through the game and in the middle of a water break when it started to rain. As they kept playing, Draco felt his frustration with everything manifest itself in the game. Angry about marrying Potter? Slide in and steal the ball from the other team. Upset about leaking private information? Dribble around five players from the other team. Agitated by the memory of Potter grinding against you? Well, that's what pushing and shoving is for.

Draco wiped some of the water off his face, looking around the field to determine the location of his teammates. Harry was wiping his glasses in a weak attempt to restore some visibility. Draco noted the way Harry's wet shirt clung to his body, the way water dripped off Harry's hair, and the way his shorts seemed to conform to his thighs before remembering that he had a game to play. He pinched himself in the arm in an attempt to regain focus.

They were in the last few minutes of the game, and the score was tied. Harry was running down the field, determined to score the winning goal. In one last moment of aggravation, Draco stormed in from the side and knocked Harry over. Both of the men fell down, their bodies colliding as they tumbled into each other. One of the guys on Draco's team had managed to steal the ball in that time. Harry and Draco watched as the ball was deftly kicked into the goal. Draco's team cheered as a whistle announced the end of the game.

Draco looked down at Harry and smiled. "See, Potter, I told you that we'd beat you."

Harry pushed Draco off of him, his face contorted with rage. "What the hell is wrong with you!"

"Seriously? This question again?" Draco stood up. The other players around them turned around to see what was going on.

Harry stood up and faced Draco. "Is it so difficult for you to stop being such a goddamn asshole for five seconds!"

"Yes, Potter. It really is."

"Shut up, Malfoy! You fucking ran at me! You weren't even trying to get the ball!" Harry was yelling, ignoring the fact that he could barely see through his water-covered glasses.

"It seemed convenient," Draco replied nonchalantly.

"Convenient? You've been on a rampage this whole game! You could have hurt somebody!"

Blaise came running up to them. "Hey, you guys, stop. The game is done, let's just go shower and leave." Harry was glaring at Draco. He looked ready for a fight, and Draco wanted nothing more than to give it to him.

"Look, Blaise, why don't you all go in. We just have some things we need to talk about." Draco didn't break eye contact with Harry, even as he talked to Blaise.

"Draco…."

"Leave, please."

Blaise hesitated, not entirely sure who was going to emerge. Then turning around, he called out to the other players. The other guys seemed just as hesitant to leave Draco and Harry alone together, but Blaise managed to convince them to join him.

When the others had left the field, Harry urgently demanded, "I don't know how many times I have to ask you this, but seriously, what the fuck is your problem!"

Draco didn't reply, instead throwing out a punch. Harry easily caught him by the wrist, and when Draco tried to punch him again, he caught that wrist as well. Draco managed to quickly pull his wrists free of Harry's grasp and then pushed Harry. Both of them lost their balance and quickly toppled over again. They wrestled each other for control, throwing a few punches for good measure. Harry managed to gain the upper hand, straddling Draco and pinning his arms against the ground.

"I don't know what I did today to piss you off," Harry said, panting as he tried to catch his breath, "but can you please tell me what today's reason for trying to kill me is." The fact that they were incredibly alone was becoming obvious as only the sound of rain pouring around them disrupted the silence.

Draco was looking away from Harry. He didn't want to look into those eyes anymore. Harry let go of one of Draco's arms so that he could turn Draco's face towards him. His fingers lightly caressed Draco's jaw, and his voice softened. "Look, Malfoy, if you're pissed that I agreed to this marriage, then tell me. If you're pissed about what happened at the office, then tell me." He lightly trailed his thumb along Draco's bottom lip. Draco didn't move. "I can't fix anything if I don't know what the problem is."

Draco suddenly reached out with his free arm and shoved Harry so he was flat on his back. Before Harry could rectify the situation, Draco had successfully reversed their positions so that he was now holding Harry down. He looked down at Harry's face, anger filling him at the sight of the man he had hated for so long.

"You want to know what my problem is, Potter? My problem is you," Draco spit out venomously. "My problem is that you were already invited into my life once without my consent, but that was supposed to be over. I shouldn't have to deal with you any longer. You shouldn't be in my life. The last five years have been great because I haven't had to hear all about how awesome the great Saint Potter is from everyone around me. And I was hoping that maybe I could continue to live my life without having to deal with you again." Draco's gray eyes were staring deep into Harry's, a sneer emphasizing the fury behind his words. "But now, it's worse than before. I am going to be legally bound to you for the rest of my fucking life, which means that I am going to have to hear all about the great Saint Potter forever.

"Malfoy—"

Draco didn't let Harry finish, leaning forward to catch Harry's lips against his own. Harry responded eagerly, the slick water on his lips enticing Draco to bite down lightly on Harry's lower lip. Harry tried to push against Draco, wanting to regain the upper hand, but Draco refused to let him.

Draco broke off the kiss, leaning his head to the side so that he could whisper in Harry's ear. "You know what my biggest problem is, Potter?"

Harry shivered beneath him. "Malfoy…." His voice sounded plaintive this time.

Draco ignored him. "My biggest problem," he continued as he lowered his chest so that it was pressing against Harry's, releasing his left arm and laying it above Harry's head, "is that I have spent the past week wanting to do this." He shifted his weight and let his right hand trail down Harry's body, feeing the tight muscles through the wet shirt. He ran his hands inside the shirt, relishing the feeling of Harry lifting his body into his touch. His fingers lightly crossed one of Harry's nipples, and he smiled when he heard a moan escape Harry's lips. He trailed his fingers down again. "And the idea of wanting to do this to you, Potter," Draco whispered as he pushed his hand into the waistband of Harry's shorts and then further down to let one finger trail up Potter's hardening dick, "pisses me the fuck off."

Harry inhaled sharply. He didn't say anything though. His eyes were closed as Draco ran his palm up and down Harry's erection, taking in the feeling of the smooth skin as his thumb circling the head. The sight of Potter lying there, surrendering his body to Draco's touch, made Draco forget that they were in a very public place. One of Harry's thighs was pushing against Draco's erection, and Draco found himself losing himself in that feeling. It felt amazing to finally have this happen on his own terms, to finally be able to touch Potter the way he had been denied only a week before.

"Ma-malfoy," Harry seemed to be having difficulty fitting words in between his groans, "we shouldn't…."

"Why, Potter?" Draco taunted, "don't you like it?"

"People might—"

"People might what? See everyone's golden boy soaking wet and hard?" Draco looked at Harry's lust-filled eyes and licked his lips. He lowered his head and whispered against Harry's lips, "That would be unfortunate, wouldn't it."

Harry lifted his head slightly in response and used his free arm to pull Draco's head down to meet his, pressing his lips against Draco so that they were kissing furiously. Harry was groaning into his mouth, lifting his hips so that he could press harder into Draco's hand. Draco took the hint, using his hand expertly until Harry was moaning so hard that he could barely maintain their kiss. They stayed like that, Draco touching Harry as the rain fell down on them until Harry let out a shudder and came in Draco's hand.

They were both panting, unwilling to move in the aftermath. If anyone happened to decide to go to the field at that time, they would have seen two soaking wet grown men collapsed against each other in the middle of an empty field. A slightly better view might offer them the chance to infer just what was going on. Draco finally slipped his hand out, wiping his hand along Harry's skin along the way and then using Harry's t-shirt to clean what was left.

"What the hell, Malfoy?"

"Whatever, it was all over your shorts anyway. And it's not like I can just walk back to the locker room with your semen all over my hand."

Harry shot him a dirty look but didn't say anything else. They both stood up and walked silently back to the locker room. Blaise was just packing up as they left. He grinned knowingly when he saw them both approaching with no visible wounds. "Well, I'm glad that you two worked out your aggression," he said, raising one of his eyebrows at one the spots on Harry's t-shirt that clearly didn't come from the rain.

Harry shot Malfoy a withering look before turning back to Blaise. "Shut it, Blaise, or next time I'll shove you into Wood's lap myself." He walked past Draco and Blaise, peeling off his shirt on his way.

Draco laughed at the stunned look on Blaise's face. "Well, look at that…I might be able to make a Malfoy out of him just yet." Harry's stained shirt hit him on the head in response.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry wasn't sure why an engagement party was necessary. Surely this was nothing worth celebrating. A McDonalds seemed more suitable to the occasion. But no, the impending nuptials between one Draco Malfoy and his arch nemesis Harry Potter was to be initiated with hors d'oeuvres and expensive wine. A lot of expensive wine.

Of course, the entire affair had been Lucius and Narcissa's idea. As soon as they had called Harry to ask him what he thought about a party, he knew that he was doomed. The only comfort was that he didn't have to put any work in the developing of the party. No, as usual, that was best left to Narcissa.

Harry had been busy trying to find an apartment, so he had barely processed the quick passage of time that lead up to the party. But when the day came, Harry began to feel a certain level of anxiety that he hadn't expected. Maybe he should change after work. Was he sure he had the right time? Just what was he supposed to say to Malfoy? "Thanks for sticking your hands down my pants" didn't seem like an appropriate greeting.

The two had resumed their radio silence after the alumni gathering. It was like a competition at this point, a contest to see who would feel compelled to acknowledge the attraction the other's body held. Harry wanted to give in. He'd started debating the pros and cons of acknowledging that his daydreams were filled with the remembrance of Draco on top of him, soaking wet and insistent on driving Harry crazy with his hands. But whenever he contemplated the reward of accepting defeat, he imagined Malfoy taunting him, mocking him for his weakness.

No, he would have to hold out. If he waited long enough, surely Malfoy would give in first.

As Harry entered the Malfoy's mansion, his chest suddenly felt heavy with anxiety. He looked around the currently empty foyer, terrified of Draco's entrance.

"Are you lost, Potter?" Malfoy's voice came imperiously from the top of the stairs. Harry glanced up and instantly regretted it. Malfoy looked, for the lack of a better word, beautiful. The black silk of the suit and the brilliant emerald of the tie was a stark contrast to his pale skin, and his whole outfit was tailored to perfectly show his slim and yet strong physique. Harry could still remember what Malfoy's bare chest looked like from the locker room, could still remember the feeling of Malfoy's body pressed against him both on the field and in his office. The sight of Draco in a suit that so perfectly highlighted the aspects of his body that Harry was starting to find so addictive pushed the image of his hands trailing down the smooth skin of Malfoy's chest to the front of Harry's head.

Draco started walking down the stairs, his fingers skimming along the banister. Harry found it hard to look away. The sight of Draco's long fingers sliding down the bannister captivated him, recalling the very distinctive memory of Draco's fingers sliding down something else entirely. Finally managing to swallow the lump in his throat, he spoke up. "Your mom told me to come early."

"Of course she did," Draco said calmly as he stepped off the last step, his hand still resting on the magnificent bannister. "We're in this as a couple. Imagine how it would look if we arrived to a party celebrating our engagement at different times." He walked closer to Harry.

Harry swallowed again, forcing himself to stare into Draco's gray eyes. "I hadn't thought of that."

"No, I suppose you hadn't." Draco looked Harry up and down, his face impassive as he carried out his assessment, causing Harry suddenly felt very self-conscious. Before Harry could come up with a sarcastic response to deflect from his own insecurities, Draco reached out. Harry instinctively stepped back to avoid what would usually be a punch to the face. "Don't worry, Potter. I'm just trying to make you presentable."

Those words weren't very comforting. "I'm pretty sure that your idea of a presentable version of me involves my death due to some particularly gruesome cause."

Draco smiled in agreement. He slowly stepped forward again, as if approaching a wild animal. Harry resisted the urge to retreat further. Draco reached out for Harry's tie, letting the navy silk slip between his fingers as his knuckles grazed down the middle of Harry's chest. He didn't look at Harry, staring intently down the path his hand was traveling.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Is there something wrong with my tie?"

Draco's hands stopped abruptly, and he snapped out of his reverie. He raised his hand to the knot of the tie and deftly untied it. "I suppose it's not terrible, but I thought you would have mastered the finer points of tie-knotting by now, Potter." he asked as he tucked the tie into Harry's collar and began to retie it. "You've only been wearing them since high school."

"Some of us had more important things to do than hold up the whole class before assembly because our tie had a tiny stain on it that we decided had to be washed right away." Draco was so close, Harry realized, that it would only take a few inches for him to give in to the temptation of those lips.

"That was one time, and it was all your fault," Draco accused. 'If you had just followed the directions Snape wrote on the board, I wouldn't have gotten solution all over my tie." Draco raised his hands to Harry's hair, attempting to brush a few of the stray strands off his face and then gently combing his fingers through some of the rough patches in the back.

A loud buzz from Harry's pocket startled the both of them. Harry grabbed his phone and smiled slightly when he saw the name on the screen, tapping away to text a response. Draco tried to see who he was talking to, but Harry held the screen at just the right angle to prevent Draco's success. When he finished typing, he put the phone away and began to look Draco up and down. Draco was staring coolly at him, his eyebrow raised as he asked, "I assume that I'm up to your standards?" Brushing an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder, Draco added, "Of course, it doesn't take much to meet your requirements, does it?"

"Harry! You're here!" Narcissa and Lucius were at the top of the stairs now looking significantly more excited than Draco had when he was up there. Draco and Harry immediately stepped away from each other, looking in opposite directions like a pair of teenagers who had just gotten caught in the act of making out. Narcissa hurried down the stairs and gave Harry a hug. Turning to smile at her son, she said, "Draco, honey, I'm so glad you chose that tie. It really matches Harry's eyes." Malfoy looked down at his tie and suddenly seemed mortified. Harry had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing.

Guests began to trickle in. There weren't as many people as there had been at the last party, and Harry was relieved to be able to recognize most of the people who had been invited. Lucius and Narcissa had invited some of Draco and Harry's friends as well. When Blaise walked in and winked in Harry's direction, Harry had to hold back the urge to punch him into silence. Pansy came later, quickly joining Blaise and Draco in a corner.

Harry was relieved when Hermione arrived, thankful for the presence of someone who wouldn't immediately walk up to him and say, "Congratulations on the wedding!" They were surprised to see Ron had come with a guest, but then Harry saw the matching shade of red hair, he broke into a smile. Ginny grinned in response. The two immediately reached out for each other and hugged, Ron smiling next to them and then shyly waving to Hermione.

"Hey, we thought we'd surprise you," Ron explained. "Narcissa said it was okay if I brought another guest." Then, remembering his manners, "Ginny, this is Hermione."

"That's great!" Harry said when Hermione and Ginny had finished their introductions. "But what are you doing here, Ginny? I thought you were still playing in England?"

"I got a spot on a team here! Can you believe it!" she said enthusiastically.

"Of course I can," Harry replied enthusiastically, hugging her again. "Congratulations!"

"Yeah, Mom's ridiculously excited that Ron and I are both back, as I'm sure you can imagine. She's trying to convince Charlie to come home now. At least we'll all be in one place for the wedding!"

Harry was going to respond when Draco suddenly appeared next to him, Blaise and Pansy in tow. He seemed very excited. "Ginny Weasley? Seriously?" Ron, Harry, and Hermione looked at him, worried about what he was going to say next. "Holy shit, you're fucking amazing!" Harry was taken aback. Yes, Ginny was pretty amazing, but it was a strange thing to hear Draco say. Draco looked at Ron. "Is she your cousin or something?"

"I'm his sister."

"No shit!" Draco keep locking back and forth between Ginny and Ron, completely confounded despite the clear family resemblance. "I thought…the last name…damn," he said, looking at Ron again, "you're related to THE Ginny Weasley."

It was Harry's turn to be confused. "Malfoy…are you…?"

"Oh, sorry, where are my manners? This is Pansy and Blaise," he said, waving vaguely in their direction. "And I'm—"

"Draco Malfoy," she cut in sternly. "The guy marrying my ex-boyfriend." Ginny managed to keep her face stone cold for five seconds before breaking into a fit of good-natured laughter.

Draco smiled and shook her hand with unusual warmth. "I am honored to collect the leftovers of the woman who single-handedly kept her country's hopes and dreams alive in the World Cup."

"I didn't realize you followed the women's teams so closely," Harry interceded with surprise.

"Of course I do," Malfoy answered, glaring at Harry. "What do you think I am? Some kind of commoner who only pays attention when the men storm the field?"

"To be fair, Draco," Pansy piped up, "you do tend to pay more attention when the men are playing." She was eyeing Ginny with interest. Pushing Draco aside, she stuck out her hand. "Pansy. Pansy Parkinson. I'm afraid that I don't know a thing about soccer, which is terrible because I love watching women play. You absolutely must explain everything to me." She quickly grabbed Ginny's arm and dragged her to a more secluded area. Apparently, the finer details of soccer can only be properly explained in dark corners over glasses of wine.

Blaise laughed. "Well, Pansy did always move fast."

Ron looked a little squeamish. Hermione immediately grabbed two glasses of wine and handed one glass to him. Their fingers brushing lightly as the glass passed from one to the other. Harry could swear that he saw their hands pause a little, a quiet attempt to prolong the contact. When they broke up apart, they noticed Harry, Draco, and Blaise staring at them expectantly. The two flushed and hurriedly took a large gulp of their wine.

Several executives dragged Blaise off, attempting to discuss his performance in his most recent game. For people who had never played before, they seemed to have a lot of advice on how soccer teams should operate. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were happily conversing, Potter politely taking breaks to accept congratulations from whoever offered it. Tired of people walking up to him and telling him how lovely it was that his tie brought out the green in his fiancé's eyes, Draco broke off and wandered around the room.

As Draco traveled from guest to guest, he found himself subjected to various attempts at chitchat. Unfortunately, chitchat at your own engagement party usually involves answering dumb questions about wedding plans. Everyone wanted to know details that Draco considered trivial. How was he supposed to know when the wedding would be? He had figured that one day he'd wake up to his mom throwing a suit on his bed, and that would be the wedding day. This phenomenon of stupid questions inspired an unofficial drinking game between Harry and Draco. Technically, it was probably Harry's idea. Draco wasn't sure; he was too drunk by the end of it to properly recall what happened.

As he remembered it, the game began when he was asked if he was planning to wear a white suit and veil at the wedding. He thought he'd hidden the rolling of his eyes, but he saw Harry only a few feet away snorting into his glass of wine as soon as the question was asked. The two locked eyes, smirked and rolled their eyes in unison, raised their glasses to each other, and took a drink. The rest of the night, whenever any question pertaining to the engagement was asked, Harry or Draco would search for the other in the crowd, raise their glass, and signal the need to take another sip. It was sign of how much people like asking silly questions about wedding that Draco and Harry quickly found themselves quite inebriated.

It took Draco a while to realize that his drinking partner had vanished. He was looking for Harry to celebrate the dumbest question he had received yet ("Do you have your wedding lingerie picked out yet?"), but the black mess of hair was nowhere to be found. He excused himself and went off in search of Harry, not entirely sure why the need to find Potter was so damn urgent.

He found him in the library. It was one of those libraries that bookworms and home decorators alike see pictures of in home decoration magazines and find themselves moved to tears over. Shelves of books of all genres lined the walls, jutting out throughout the room and forming small corners while luxurious couches filled the floor. And more importantly to Draco at the moment, it was completely empty except for the two of them.

Harry looked back when he heard Draco close the door and then returned his gaze to whatever he was looking at before. He was kneeling, scanning the books on one of the bottom most shelves. Draco walked over and stood next to him, leaning against the bookshelf.

"Let me guess," Harry said, "this is when you saying something like, 'Wow, Potter, I never knew you could read.'"

"Yeah, pretty much. Then I was going to ask you something along the lines of, 'What kind of guy invites his ex-girlfriend to his engagement party?'"

Harry didn't look up from his perusal of the shelf. "Really?" he asked casually, "You seemed happy to see her an hour ago."

Draco crossed his arms and looked at the titles next to him. "I just think it's tacky to invite someone you've had sex with to a party celebrating your impending marriage."

"Right," Harry replied skeptically, "because I'm supposed to believe that you and Blaise never slept together." He looked up this time, staring pointedly into Draco's eyes. Grey eyes pierced into green for several seconds before laughing quietly at the latest reminder of the absurdity of their situation.

"Blaise and I stopped, you know." Draco wasn't sure why he was volunteering this information. He didn't owe Potter any explanation about his sex life.

"I figured, especially with his raging crush on Oliver." Harry was still staring at Draco. "There's nothing between Ginny and me, in case you were wondering. We dated, we got along really well, but we were just in different places. Probably always will be. She's not the type to settle down."

"And you are?"

Harry smiled, but he didn't respond. He was still kneeling, one knee digging into the ground. He reached out for Draco's left arm. Draco wasn't sure why his body was so compliant, but he let his arms uncross so that Harry could enclose Draco's wrist with his fingers and extend the arm towards him. He stared intently at the tattoo on Draco's forearm, trailing his fingers along the edges of the image. Draco knew he should pull his arm away, but the feathery touch of Harry's fingers acted like braces, keeping him frozen to the spot as Harry analyzed the curves of the snake.

"You didn't have this when were in high school," he stated, barely glancing at Draco. He had reached the bottom of the tattoo, softly outlining a circle at the base of Draco's wrist before tracing his way back up. A faint buzzing sounded from his pocket, but Harry ignored it.

"No." Draco tried to disguise the fact that there was a knot in his throat that was making it very difficult to breathe. "I got it during college.

"Why?" Harry's voice was soft, lacking the usual edge that took over when he talked to Draco.

Draco shrugged. "It just seemed like a good idea at the time." The buzzing noise came up again. "Aren't you going to get that?"

Harry ignored Draco's question and chuckled, the sound resulting in a slight flush in Draco's cheeks. "Was it?"

"Huh?" Harry's fingers were still trailing up and down Draco's arm while his other hand maintained a firm grasp on Draco's wrist. Draco's body was tightening in ways that he desperately wanted to stop but couldn't.

Harry looked up slightly at him, but his fingers didn't stop their light caress. "The tattoo? Was it a good idea?"

"Oh, um, I guess." Draco smiled a little, "It kind of makes me think of being young and stupid."

Harry returned the smile. "Which you no longer are?"

"Ha, ha, ha." Draco managed to move his arm slightly up so that he could look at it, his fingers unclenching from the fist he hadn't known he'd formed as his hand relaxed. As he brought his arms towards him, his hand made contact with Harry's smooth jaw. Draco could have sworn that he saw something in Harry's expression change when his hand made contact. "I just look at it and thinking that maybe I didn't know what I was getting into…I wanted to piss my parents off when I got it, but I don't really care about that anymore. I've thought about getting it removed."

"Really?" Harry replied, a curious look on his face as he thumbed across the head of the snake. "I think it looks…beautiful.

Draco felt himself growing warmer. He felt ridiculous, like one of those vapid teenage girls in a soapy drama television show rendered incoherent in the face of a boy who calls them pretty. Harry brought Draco's arm back towards him and lowered his head to the crook of Draco's elbow, leaving a light kiss where the edge of the rolled-up sleeve met Draco's skin. He continued to trail light kisses down Draco's forearm, tracing the outline of the snake with his lips as he followed the path his fingers had danced along before.

Harry reached Draco's wrist, releasing his hold on it as he let his hand slide down to Draco's fingers. He delicately turned Draco's hand over. The loss of the feeling of Harry's lips on him made Draco more afraid than he wanted to admit, and when Harry resumed his path down the top of Draco's hand, he felt oddly comforted. And yet there was the same undercurrent of nervousness he seemed to get whenever in such close proximity to Potter, the vague knowledge that whatever was happening was not normal.

"Potter?" Draco was too flustered to try and hide the shakiness in his voice.

"Hm?" Potter didn't even look up, his lips instead trailing down Draco's index and middle fingers at the same time.

"Potter!" This time, Potter stopped and looked up, but his lips mercifully didn't leave Draco's fingers. Draco swallowed, the sight of Potter kneeling in front of him making his blood run hot. Focus, he tried to tell himself. But focusing only seemed to refocus his attention on Potter and his fucking mouth. And as soon as the words "fucking" and "mouth" and "Potter" appeared in Draco's head, he regretted it.

"Yes, Malfoy?" Harry's face was calm, as if using his lips to explore Draco's extremities were a normal occurrence for him.

Draco felt the same fear he had felt when Potter's lips had first stopped their trek down his arm. "Potter," he said again, the quiver in his voice annoying him its conspicuousness, "what are you doing?"

Harry just smiled and moved to Draco's ring finger. He didn't break eye contact as he placed a light kiss at the bottom of the finger. "Malfoy?"

"Y-yes...?" Draco was stammering at this point. He wanted to look away from Harry's gaze, but he found it impossible to tear his eyes away from the deep green staring back at him.

"Malfoy," Harry placed another kiss at the base of the finger, "will you marry me?"

Draco almost completely snapped out of whatever daze he had been trapped in. Potter was smirking! At him! At Draco Malfoy: king of the smirk. Draco would have punched him—his hand was conveniently looked at the front of Potter's face after all—but just then, Harry's tongue made slightly contact with the underside of his finger. He slowly pulled Draco's finger away so that his tongue continued its way to the tip, letting Draco's finger slide between his lips. The touch was excruciating, soft enough that Draco wanted to demand more but hard enough that he couldn't find the ability to voice his needs.

Harry repeated his movements, dragging his tongue slowly up and down Draco's finger. Draco tentatively lifted his middle finger and trailed it along Harry's lower lip, groaning as Harry took both digits into his hot mouth. The physical feeling of Harry mouth on his fingers combined with the image of Harry's mouth wrapped around him taunted Draco. He was practically in pain at this point, unsure if he should revert back to the "punch Potter in the face" plan, continue with the current "stand frozen and stammer occasionally" plan, or to pursue a third plan that was developing in the back of his head. A plan that involved grabbing Potter's hair and redirecting him so that he could repeat his ministrations where it would prove most useful.

Before he could decide on the best course of action, the sound of one of the gigantic library doors opening caused him and Potter to instinctively separate. This was a little awkward for Potter, given that he was kneeling on the ground. It turned out to be even more awkward for Draco, who had forgotten that there was a shelf right behind him and happened to jump right into it.

The sound of two women giggling sounded in the room. Draco knew he recognized at least one of the laughs. Sure enough, Pansy appeared around the corner of one of the shelves holding onto Ginny's hand. Despite the distance they had put between each other, Harry and Draco couldn't hide their flushed faces or Harry's kneeling position. Pansy and Ginny turned and grinned knowingly at each other.

"Well, I'm glad you two made excellent use of your engagement party," Pansy said coyly. She aimed her gaze directly at Draco's crotch.

Harry stood up. "I was just looking….for a book."

"Where?" Ginny asked, her eyebrows raised. "In Draco's pants?"

Harry was still determined to save some face. "There was nothing happening in anyone's pants."

"No thanks to you two," Draco mumbled under his breath. Harry glared at him. Pansy and Ginny managed to look a tiny bit ashamed of themselves.

Draco walked towards the doors, Harry following him closely. As he opened the door, Draco turned to Harry and declared, "Potter, we're drunk."

Harry looked at Draco. "Yes," he confirmed. "Yes, we are."

 

*****

 

Harry's face fall as soon as they made it back to the guests. Draco wasn't sure what happened to make Harry stop so suddenly, but as he scammed the room, he noticed Hermione staring worriedly between Harry and a group of three people standing in the middle of the room talking to Lucius and Narcissa.

Draco had never seen these people before. A prim woman was glancing eagerly at the elegant displays of wealth, no doubt trying to determine how she could best replicate what she saw before her next dinner party. She was flanked by two large men. The older one was talking rapidly at Lucius, who was politely nodding in a vain attempt to converse. The other man had to be their son.

But as to what these people had to do with the reluctant look on Harry's face as Narcissa beckoned them over, Draco had no clue.

"Draco, honey, these are the Durlseys: Harry's aunt, uncle, and cousin," Narcissa explained, pointing to each relative as she introduced them. "They were the ones who raised Harry." Draco looked at Harry, hoping to decipher more of his response now that he knew this was Harry's family. The truth was that Draco didn't know anything about the people who had raised Harry. He had always assumed that the man with stringy black hair and who was covered in tattoos was Harry's family. That was the guy who had shown up for all of Harry's soccer games, who had come to cheer loudly at Harry's graduation—these people had never shown up for any event that Draco could remember.

This was the first time Draco realized just how little he knew about Harry. Sure, he could write a full thesis on Harry's incessant need to be everyone's hero filled with detailed examples to illustrate various aspects of Potter's psychology. But as for a summary of Harry's life prior to their first meeting, Draco couldn't say much more than Harry had been orphaned when he was a baby.

Harry's aunt seemed to recognize Draco from his various stints on the cover of tabloids. She listed question after question, barely giving Draco any time to respond as she named every celebrity she was interested in hearing more about. Harry's uncle had returned to talking to Lucius, bragging about the latest drills his company had put out. And Harry's cousin just stood there, blank-faced in a way that recalled the combined oafishness of Crabbe and Goyle.

The main thing Draco noticed though was that none of them really addressed Harry. Except for a hug initiated by the aunt that was too effusive to be anything but show, Draco observed no interaction between the two parties. It was like they were in two separate rooms. His own relationship with his parents may be flawed, but at least Draco could talk to them without looking like he was in pain.

Hermione waited a few minutes before interceding, apologizing profusely for her rudeness but she just had to say hi to her dear friend Harry. She quickly dragged him away. Draco couldn't forget the look of relief that took over Harry's face as his friend rescued him. It was the first time he had seen anything resembling vulnerability in the other man, and he was surprised to find that he didn't relish the discovery.

Well, ok, maybe he relished it a little. But the more this aunt and uncle talked, the more Draco felt bad about it. He excused himself, leaving his parents at the mercy of the Dursleys. Taking a quick detour to the basement to steal a bottle of his father's champagne, Draco walked back to the library. Not finding Hermione or Harry there, he headed to the backyard.

To clarify, the Malfoys didn't actually have a backyard. They had more of an elegant park that occupied the area behind their house. An immense fountain with a magnificent statue of Neptune occupied the center, surrounded by carefully arranged flowers and trees. The Malfoys employed an army of gardeners and landscape artists to ensure that the garden looked beautiful all year long. Draco found his friends and Harry lounging on the ground, a series of blankets with an embroidered "M" in the corner laid out beneath them.

"Draco! Just the man we wanted to see!" Pansy tried to stand up, but the difficulty of balancing the drink in her hand while managing both her dress and heels proved too difficult. She reached upwards, and Draco laughingly gave her a hug.

"I'm sorry to be so late then," Draco replied as he looked around. "I offer this bottle of champagne as an apology." He held up the bottle for emphasis. The others looked eagerly at the bottle as Draco opened it, holding out their glasses as he walked around and filled them. When he got to Harry, he tried to evaluate Potter's eyes to see if the remnants of whatever had passed with his family were still there. Potter's expression betrayed nothing, and instead Draco found himself considering just how beautiful Harry's eyes were. He plopped down next to Potter, tipping the bottle back to take a gulp of champagne. "So just what was it you all wanted to see me about."

"It's nothing, they're just being dumb," Harry replied.

"No!" Hermione indignant voice was magnified by her alcohol consumption, "It's not dumb. It's a perfectly good idea."

"What's a good idea?"

"It's nothing," Harry repeated.

"We were just discussing Harry's apartment search," Blaise explained, ignoring Harry as he dropped his head in exasperation. "And we were suggesting that it might be a good idea if he moved in with you."

Draco looked around the circle of people who he had only five minutes before considered to be his friends. Clearly, these people weren't his friends. They were enemies—the whole lot of them determined to attack his well-being and bring nothing but misery to his future. "I don't need a roommate."

"Uh, yes, you do," Pansy reminded him. "You may have managed to sweet talk your land lord for this long, but she's not going to put up with you occupying that whole apartment on just half the total rent."

"You don't know that. I am an excellent sweet talker."

"Draco….." Hermione sounded prepared to scold him.

"Okay, okay. So I need to get a roommate," Draco acquiesced. "But Potter's right. That's a terrible idea."  
"You two do realize that you're going to live together at some point," Ron pointed out.

"Well, Potter will just make a lot of money so that he can buy us a mansion. And then we'll live on different sides of the mansion and never have to see each other. And that's not going to happen until after the marriage."

"Yeah!" Harry said loudly in agreement before realizing exactly what he had agreed to. "Wait, what?"

"Don't worry, Potter, I'll pick the house out for you. I'll take care of the decorating too."

"Aw," Ginny cooed, "look at you two, getting all domestic."

Harry turned to Draco. "You know, I'm starting to get the distinct impression that our friends are enjoying this engagement more than we are."

"Really?" Pansy said innocently, "you two seemed to be enjoying it just fine in the library."

"And on the soccer field," chimed Blaise.

"The library and the soccer field?" Ginny seemed impressed. "I don't remember you being so…public, Harry." Draco snorted as he recalled the other ways Harry seemed to eschew privacy.

Ron interrupted. "Ginny, if you could please refrain from referring to Harry in any…you know…."

"Way that reminds you that I have sex?" Ginny asked. "No, I would prefer not to. But back to the more important discussion." She turned to Draco and Harry. "Harry, you need a place to live. Draco, you need a roommate. Move in together so that we can all be spared the angst of your whining about how difficult it is to find an apartment or a roommate. Please."

The rest of the circle raised their glasses, drunkenly voicing their agreement.

Draco and Harry looked at each other, scowling as they silently realized they had no plan to escape this mass conspiracy. "Well, Potter, I hope you like doing dishes, because I sure don't."

 

*****

 

Despite their friends' frequent taunts through the rest of the night, Draco and Harry managed to avoid talking about their new roommate status. It seemed like more of "We'll deal with this fuckery when it comes" sort of arrangement. They stayed outside for the rest of the night, and still no reference was made to the presence of Harry's family.

Draco had almost forgotten about them. It was only when people were getting ready to leave and Draco saw the Dursleys trying to make plans with every person in a five foot radius that Draco remembered their existence. Narcissa dragged Harry forward again, subjecting him to another awkward hug with his aunt. The expression on Harry's face when he escaped the clutches of his aunt's arms was colder than Draco had ever seen before. It almost frightened him, never having seen Harry so completely void of emotion.

Draco's parents insisted that Draco and Harry leave together, offering a car to drop them both off at their respective homes. Draco kept staring at Harry, trying to read his face for more clues.

"Now what's wrong with my face, Malfoy?" Harry sounded bored, prepared for the usual trading of the barbs.

"If you keep expecting my insults, you're going to take all the fun out of our conversations."

"Maybe you should mix it up some more then."

Draco didn't reply for a while, instead letting silence take over the back seat. "So that was your aunt and uncle and cousin?" Harry's shoulder tensed, and he nodded curtly in response. "How come I've never seen them before?"

Harry avoided looking at Draco. "I'd rather not talk about them."

"I can tell," Draco said sharply. "I don't think I'd even heard of them at all before today."

"Malfoy, stop!" Harry was glaring at Draco now, his hands curled into a fist on the seat cushion.

"Right," Draco replied, "because I should be the only one who has to reveal parts of my personal life."

"That's different," Harry said. "I didn't know if I could trust you."

"Right. Of course. How could I forget?" Draco stated sardonically, alcohol fueling his anger. "Prying into people's private lives is only okay when the honorable Harry Potter does it."

"Fine," Harry growled back. "That's my Aunt Petunia. She was my mom's sister. That guy she married is Uncle Dursley. And their son is Dudley. When my parents died, they had to take care of me."

"My mom already told me all of this."

"Well, there's nothing else to know!" Harry turned slightly in his seat to face Draco, frustration etched across his face.

"Of course there's something else to know," Draco countered. "There's always something else to know." Harry stayed silent, his eyes focused with fury. Draco sat back and looked at the ceiling of the car. "I mean, I for one am interested to know why I've never seen or even heard of these people before. You're everyone's golden boy, right? I'd think that you'd be theirs too." He glanced back at Harry's again, surprised to see the other man absent-mindedly biting his lip. "Hit a nerve, did I?"

Harry snapped back into focus, his anger apparent as he dug his fingers into the chair. "If you think I'm going to tell you anything—"

His phone buzzed again, cutting him off before he could complete his thought. He reached into his pocket to grab it, but Draco quickly reached out and grabbed the phone. "Just who the hell have you been texting all night anyway." When Harry didn't answer, Draco glanced down and smirked when he saw the name on the screen. "Seriously? At least Ginny is cool, but Cho? Really? When's the last time she scored a hat trick in the World Cup?"

Harry tried to grab his phone back. "She's a bank teller."

"Ugh, she just gets less and less interesting," Draco replied, idly scrolling through the conversation on Harry's phone as he held it away.

"She's having a hard time, okay. Cedric just broke up with her."

"Aah, say no more," Draco grinned. "Our intrepid Harry Potter must come in and comfort our distressed damsel."

"Malfoy," Harry pleaded in exasperation, "give me back my phone."

Draco ignored him, holding the phone even further away from Harry. "Seriously, Potter, a 'wink' emoticon? What are you, a horny sixteen year old?"

"You know, Malfoy, you're really starting to piss me off."

"Really? Because last time I checked, I'm not the one who spent our whole engagement party flirting with my high school crush via text message."

"I did not spend the whole party texting her."

"Ok, fine, I'll give credit where it's due," Draco offered, returning the phone back to Harry. "You didn't text her when you had my fingers in your mouth."

Harry stared at him, the desire cutting through the anger in his eyes. Before he could think of what he was doing, Malfoy unbuckled his seatbelt and reached over to grab Harry towards him. He weaved his fingers through Harry's hair and yanked him violently forward. The two crushed their lips together, tongues battling as they tried to fulfill the need they had been skirting around all night. Harry grabbed Draco's shirt in one fist and pulled him closer, his hand sliding down to stroke the length of one of Draco's thighs.

Neither of them realized that they had reached Harry's hotel. It took several loud knocks on the barrier between the driver and the backseat for them to break apart. They took several seconds to compose themselves, breathing heavily as they collected their thoughts.

"Well, Potter. Next time you text Cho, maybe you should tell her about that."

Harry collected his belongings and opened the door. He turned back to say, "Fuck off, Malfoy," and then slammed the door shut.


	9. Chapter 9

"No!"

"Come on, Hermioneeeeee!"

"No, Draco." Hermione's voice was stern. She was staring resolutely at her computer screen, ignoring the blonde man pleading in the chair next to her.

"But whyyyyyy!"

"I told you, just because I sit at the nexus of your guys' personal lives, that doesn't mean you two can use me as a substitute for actually talking to each other."

"But I already asked Potter!" Draco was leaning forward, draped across her desk in an uncharacteristic display of exhaustion and desperation.

"And if he didn't tell you anything, then I'm not going to either."

"Oh, come on. I know he asked you to tell him stuff about me."

Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair. "If I had told Harry any of the things you've told me about yourself, he would already have the twenty page analysis on your personality I have written in my head."

"Twenty pages?" Draco straightened his back and pretended to look shocked. "I didn't realize our friendship meant so little to you, Hermione. I would have expected you to have at least forty pages by now."

"The other twenty pages are for charts and figures," she replied reassuringly.

Draco settled back into sprawling his upper body across the desk, one side of his head against the desk. "It's not fair! Just because I pulled a few pranks on him in high school, he thinks he's entitled to know everything about me, and I can't know anything about him."

"Pouting doesn't become you," Hermione said. "Besides, wasn't one of your pranks to get him to accidentally produce a stink bomb in your chemistry class?"

Draco looked at her from the desk, shrugging his shoulders as best as he could. "Snape intervened before it got too bad."

Hermione shot him a sharp look. "Harry almost got suspended for that."

"It's not my fault that he doesn't understand chemistry or how to read instructions on a board," Draco said blandly. "Besides, it's not like they would ever actually suspend the one and only Harry Potter."

"That's not the point."

"Fine," Draco sighed, "I've tried to fuck Potter over many times in my life. Now is not one of them. I just want to know who these aunt and uncle people are."

Hermione leaned forward, turning to look directly at Draco as she rested her head against one hand. "Sorry, Draco, I know. I'm not trying to say that you're up to anything," she said sympathetically. "And if it's any consolation, I think Harry's being unfair."

Draco couldn't hide his grin. "That does make feel better. It's not often that I get to claim the moral high ground on Potter."

Hermione shook her head in mocking disapproval and turned back to the computer screen. "He's all moved in, right?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. He was gone for a week so that he could settle everything at his old place, but I think he's got everything moved over now."

"He told me that he got to take your dad's jet."

Draco yawned loudly, stretching across the desk. "Indeed. His promotion to 'future son-in-law' means he has jet privileges now."

"How has the roommate situation been working for you two?" Hermione asked detachedly, trying to hide her blatant attempt to pry.

"Haven't you already asked Potter?" Draco replied, unconvinced by her nonchalance.

"I just want to hear your perspective."

"You just want to know how your guys' sick experiment is working out."

Hermione caved. "Yup, pretty much."

Draco glared at her. "You know that you're a twisted woman, right?"

"Of course. But more importantly, I'm a twisted scientist. I need to make some observations."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but there isn't much to observe," Draco reported. "We don't see each other at all, so we've been getting along really well."

"Well, you've been keeping odd hours the past week," Hermione offered as explanation. "Have you even been sleeping at your apartment?"

"I think I've managed to get a grand total of eight hours of sleep in my own bed over the past five days."

Hermione's face became flooded with concern. "Eesh. That can't be healthy."

"No, I don't think so," Draco agreed. "Last night, I thought a beaker was a peacock for a while."

"And how did that turn out?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows raised in consternation.

"Pretty well. We had a pleasant conversation about the terrible burden of being beautiful."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you did. Any other hallucinations I should know about?"

"I think I made out with an apple." Draco's eyes started to droop close, and it was taking a very obvious effort to keep them open. "I couldn't figure out how to bite it."

"Oh, Draco," Hermione said, her voice taking on the tone of a concerned school nurse, "I think you need some more sleep."

"I just have a few things left to do today," he replied, his eyes closed as his body started relaxing into a more comfortable sleeping position, "and then I am going home and sleeping for fifteen hours."

"I'm excited to hear what happens in your apartment when you and Harry are on roughly the same schedule."

"Oh, god," Draco groaned, his eyes opening in terror. "Maybe I'll become nocturnal so that we can keep the peace."

Hermione looked kindly at him and sighed. "Do you want my advice?"

"Aren't you going to give it to me anyway?" Draco's eyes were closing again.

"Give Harry some time. He'll come around eventually."

"That's not—"

"—fair. I know. But you two are getting married whether you like it or not," Hermione continued reasonably. "Eventually, one of you is going to have to be the mature one so that you can have some peace."

"Why can't it be Potter?" Draco's voice trailed off as his head sunk lower into his arm.

"You think I haven't given him the same lecture? I'm just hoping that one of you listens to me, okay?" When there was no response, she repeated the question. "Okay?"

But Draco had already fallen asleep.

 

*****

 

The next morning, Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal while scanning the latest news on his laptop. The previous night was the first time he'd come home after Draco, but the door to Draco's room had been shut the whole time. The lights were off, and no sound came from inside. As far as Harry could tell, Draco had been asleep since some time before 7 pm.

Draco was in the shower now. When he'd left his room, he had the look of someone who would respond to any attempt at conversation with extreme violence. He stubbed his toe on his way to the bathroom and swore loudly, slamming the bathroom door shut behind him. Harry wasn't sure what would take someone more than ten minutes in the shower, but whatever happened in the thirty minutes Draco needed in there, it seemed to have helped. He walked out into the kitchen smiling, a small bounce in his step.

But Harry didn't notice this improvement in mood because Draco also walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, his hips lightly swaying in a hypnotic path.

Draco reached up to grab a plate from a cupboard, the towel sliding a few millimeters down his hips. Harry didn't realize that he was staring until his spoon slipped out of his hand and dropped into the bowl, splashing milk onto his tie. He ignored Draco's derisive snort and walked over to the sink to get a paper towel. As Harry blotted away the milk, Draco had progressed to the fridge, bending over as he peered inside. The ends of the towel parted slightly, giving Harry a glimpse of built muscle. He bit his lip unconsciously as he considered the number of ways physics could kick in and remove the towel for him. When Draco stood back up and walked towards one of the counters, Harry quickly averted his gaze.

"You look confused, Potter." Draco loaded up the toaster with some bread and poured himself a glass of milk. He turned to casually leaning his back against the counter as he drank.

It took all of Harry's determination to be able to tear his focus away from Draco's body. "I'm just surprised to see you," he said casually, "I was starting to forget that you lived here."

Draco smiled slyly. "It must have been terrible to go so long without my companionship."

"The peace and quiet was starting to get disturbing." Harry look down at his tie, satisfied that he had successfully wiped the milk out of it. He walked towards Draco to throw away the paper towel. He wasn't sure quite where to train his eyes as he got closer and closer to the half-naked man. Staring at Draco's bare torso was clearly a bad idea, but looking away seemed too obvious. The smartest choice seemed to be to lean his side against the counter so that he was standing next to Draco, staring at the muscles in Draco's neck. "So, um, you had a lot of work?"

"I have a presentation coming up, so I needed to get some more data," Draco replied as took another sip. "But I finally finished the worst of it yesterday." He set the glass down, a white drop of milk resting suggestively on his lower lip.

"So you decided that you'd take a short nap last night?" Harry taunted, trying to ignore that damn milk drop.

Draco laughed. "Yes. Finally. I don't even remember hearing you come back yesterday."

In some miracle of science, the drop had managed to cling to the soft skin of Draco's lip. Harry reached out without thinking, softly raising Draco's chin. He leaned forward and lightly grazed his tongue along Draco's lower lip. Draco reached up to pull Harry into him, inviting him to deepen the touch. Harry shifted so that he was pressed entirely against Draco, pushing him against the counter.

The kiss was less violent than their previous kisses. They took their time, using their tongues to explore each other. They pressed together, eager to relive the memory of Draco's bare chest warm against Harry's body. Even when they stopped, neither Draco nor Harry moved apart from each other. Harry's hands had made their way down Draco's body, and one of them was now resting on the counter.

"Er…you had milk…on your lip," he offered awkwardly, as if he needed to provide an explanation.

"Is it gone?" Draco replied sardonically. He raised a finger and slowly traced his lower lip as if trying to detect any remaining evidence of the offending milk. Harry swallowed nervously as he stared, causing Draco to laugh at his discomfort. Suddenly taking on a contemplative look, Draco asked, "Have you done any thinking….about….this?" Even speaking so vaguely, there was no confusion about what "this" was.

"No," Harry answered. "I like to leave the personal self-analysis and uncomfortable truths to Hermione."

"I assume she gave you her hypothesis?"

"Of course," he asserted. "Something about how since we're adults, we use…this…to carry out our aggression against each other since we're supposed to be too mature to punch each other in the face."

"But we have punched each other in the face recently," Draco pointed out.

"Well, she also suggested that since we're no longer in school together or working in the same office, we're using sex as some sort of new battleground."

"Like this is some sort of competition?"

"Yeah."

Draco considered the idea. "I can accept that explanation. I mean, I am winning, of course."

Harry suddenly pushed harder against Draco, crushing their hips against each other. He leaned forward, whispering into Draco's ear. "Excuse me? Since when are you winning?"

Draco tried to disguise the excitement Harry's body was inspiring, calmly replying, "Well, I do believe I was the first to inspire public arousal. That's got to give me at least twenty points on you."

"If you're thinking about the soccer field, you might want to get your memory checked," Harry retorted. "I believe I collected the public arousal badge first."

"Are you talking about the elevator?" Draco snorted. "Some mild hanky panky in an elevator has nothing on obtaining semen samples in public."

"And then there was the office."

"That may have been inspired, but it wasn't in public. Besides," Draco added, "That was mostly my idea."

"So you're saying that having your arms pinned behind your back and having little control over the situation was your idea?" Harry's voice asked teasingly.

Draco scowled at him. "Fine. I'll let you take the credit for that one. But I still think I'm ahead."

"What about the library at your parents' place?"

"Nope, you're still behind. I initiated our first kiss. Where would be without that?"

Harry went silent for a few seconds, assessing the imaginary score Draco had come up with. Finally, raising his head to look Draco in the eye, he spoke. "Fine."

Draco was taken aback. "What?"

"You're right," Harry conceded. "You're ahead right now."

"Really? You're giving up just like that?" Draco looked at Harry skeptically. He couldn't remember the last time Harry had accepted defeat so easily.

"Who said anything about giving up?" Harry laughed. "No, Malfoy, I'm acknowledging that right now, you're ahead. But not for long."

This time, it was Draco's turn to swallow nervously. "What do you have planned?" He stared at the green eyes, trying to figure out what was going to happen in their depths. "Don't you have to go to work soon or something?" he asked anxiously.

"My morning meeting got cancelled," Harry said, "so I have plenty of time to level the playing field." He leaned forward to capture Draco's lips in his again. Draco responded eagerly, groaning as their tongues battled and their hips worked against each other. He quickly reached up to undo Harry's tie and unbutton his shirt, tossing the two aside in a messy heap. "Eager, Malfoy?" Harry teased.

"Whatever it is you have planned, Potter, you're doing it shirtless." Harry smirked in response before resuming the kiss. Draco admired Harry's body, taking in the feeling of the strong back against his hands and the smooth chest against his own skin. He reached his hands down Harry's back until they were grabbing his ass, guiding Harry's hips into an even more desperate rhythm against his. The towel around his waist seemed to be getting looser and looser with each rough thrust.

Harry broke the kiss, beginning a hot trail down Draco's neck. Draco threw his head back and moaned as Potter found a sensitive spot and lightly bit down. Harry's lips continued their way down Draco's body. He leaned over to catch a nipple in his mouth and flick his tongue across it. By this point, one of Draco's hands had returned to the counter, a practical measure to ensure that he could still stand as Potter resumed his path.

The combination of Potter's mouth and fingers dancing their way down his body was driving Draco crazy. He didn't notice for several seconds that Potter was now on his knees, continuing the ministrations that were making Draco painfully hard. The sight of Potter shirtless and resting on his knees was reminding Draco of all the fantasies he had tried to push aside. There was no way Potter would…no, that would be too crazy…Potter would never….

But there he was, slowly closing the distance between his mouth and Draco's cock.

He reached the point where Draco's towel was wrapped. Without touching the towel, he let his tongue travel down one of Draco's hip bones and then kissed a torturously slow line across his stomach until he reached the other hip bone. Still, he did nothing to remove the towel, instead teasing a particularly sensitive spot next to the hip bone with his teeth.

"Please…Potter…."

"Hmmm…?" Harry looked up to meet Draco's eyes, but he did nothing to acknowledge what Draco was silently begging for.

"Please…."

Potter just worked his way back up before laughing softly. "I'm so used to you telling me what to do," he said as he kissed a trail up Draco's abdomen, the words hot against his skin, "I'm not used to you only giving me the magic word."

"Oh, god, please…." Draco could barely speak as Potter's mouth made it's way back up to his nipples, running the skin lightly between his teeth as he ran his tongue over it.

"Please…what, Malfoy?"

The taunting was just barely enough to snap Draco somewhat back to his senses. With one hand, he yanked Harry's head back. Potter smirked at him, clearly enjoying the frustration he was inspiring. "Suck my dick, Potter," Draco declared. Then, for good measure, he smiled and added, "Please."

Potter's smirk grew. "You only needed to ask."

Draco loosened his grip, his anticipation growing as Potter went back to work on his body. He loosened the towel from Draco's waist, letting it drop to the kitchen. He looked up and down Draco's body, taking in the sight of the naked man. Draco felt an uncharacteristic twang of insecurity, strangely concerned that Potter might not find him up to his standards. The insecurity vanished when he saw the growing desire in Potter's eyes.

"Good lord, you're beautiful," Potter whispered before blushing at the forwardness of his words. Draco wished he could say that he didn't flush at the sound of Potter's praise, but the approval of this man he hated was intoxicating.

Harry drew his finger from the tip of Draco's cock down to the base, taking in the sound of Malfoy's muttered pleas for more. Grabbing Draco's erection with one hand, Harry used his tongue to draw the same line back up from the base to the tip, flicking his tongue across the tip before tracing a light circle around it.

Removing his hand, Harry took Draco's cock into his mouth, eliciting a loud cry as he wrapped his lips around the base. With his mouth still around Draco's erection, he teased his tongue up and down the length. He slowly began to move his mouth, his hands grabbing the counter to hold himself up so that he could try to take more of Malfoy into his mouth with each thrust down.

Draco let the hand still woven in Potter's hair tighten. The sight of Potter's muscular shoulders and back at work as his mouth ran up and down his cock was more erotic than Draco had imagined. Potter let one of his hands go from the counter to Draco's thigh, his fingers digging into muscle for support. He slid the hand up to encircle the base of Draco's erection. His hand began to collaborate with his mouth, the two sliding up and down Malfoy in a rhythm that Draco could barely keep track of.

Potter looked up, his eyes locking on Malfoy's as he continued to work his hands and mouth around Draco's cock. The sight of pure lust in that deep green set Draco on fire, and he found it impossible to look away. It was only when his orgasm came—and fucking hell, Potter swallowed—that Draco stopped, his eyes closed as he let the pleasure overtake him.

When he looked down again, Potter was grinning triumphantly. "I think I'm winning now."

There was a drop left on Potter's lips. Draco reached out and wiped it with his thumb, letting it rest on Potter's bottom lip. Harry opened his mouth and lightly licked the finger before standing up. "I would have been a lot more willing to let you win things in high school if those were the results."

"'Let me win'?" Harry raised an eyebrow, but he didn't add anything. He reached down to grab his shirt and tie, throwing them back on in a hasty manner that hurt Draco's finicky soul.

Draco covered himself back up with a towel. His toast had long been finished, its completion having gone unnoticed by the otherwise occupied men. It was now too cold for pleasant consumption, but too toasted for a quick reheat.

"Potter," he said as he considering the best solution to his toast dilemma. "Do you want to get dinner tonight?"

Harry was standing at his computer, contemplating some recent news updates before shutting it down. When he heard Draco's voice, he raised his head. "Um…actually, I have plans."

"Plans?"

"Yeah, Cho and I were going to get dinner." Harry looked uncomfortable. "But you can join us."

Draco wasn't sure if he was disgusted by his toast or by the prospect of spending an evening in the company of Cho. "I'll pass."

"Are you sure? I'm sure she'd be fine with it." Harry was gathering his belongings, stashing them in his briefcase.

"No," Draco answered, "I'm pretty sure she'd see me as a third wheel."

"Oh, come on. This isn't a date or anything."

"Where are you going for dinner?"

"Um…Puddifoots," Harry replied hesitantly.

Draco laughed incredulously. "You're going to Puddifoots, and you think that's not a date?"

"It's not!" he insisted while cramming his feet into his shoes.

"Okay, Potter. You keep telling yourself that."

"Whatever," Harry said, glancing at his watch as he walked towards the door, "I have to go now."

"Have fun on your date!" Draco called after him. "Remember, don't let her pressure you into doing anything you don't want to do."

"I hope you have a great day too, Malfoy."

 

*****

 

The part about his dinner with Cho that pissed Harry off was that it turned out that Malfoy wasn't wrong. He wasn't exactly right, but he wasn't wrong either.

The dinner had started off just fine. The restaurant was nice, if maybe a bit too romantic for a reunion between old friends, what with the scented candles and roses that adorned the tabletops. Harry and Cho reminisced about high school and talked at length about where the past few years had taken them. As the night went on, Harry remembered everything about Cho that had made her so alluring in high school. It wasn't just that Cho was stunning. She was also sweet and clever, making Harry feel both comfortable and engaged. As he watched her, the candle on the table flickering light across her beautiful smile, he felt relaxed in his attraction to her. The idea that Cedric had broken up with her was crazy. How could anyone not want her?

There was only one conversation during the dinner that he didn't enjoy. At one point, she asked him about his engagement to Draco, obviously confused about how it came to be. Harry explained the nature of the arrangement he had made with Lucius, shifting uncomfortably as he saw her bafflement grow.

"So you actually agreed to marry Draco Malfoy!" she exclaimed loudly.

"Yes," he replied meekly.

"But you hate him!"

Harry started playing with his knife, drawing impressions onto the napkin with the blade. "Yeah, I guess."

"You guess? You hated him in high school."

"I know."

"Has he changed or something?" Cho was clearly skeptical that any marriage between Harry and Draco could possibly end in happiness. Harry couldn't blame her; he wasn't entirely convinced either.

"Yes." Harry paused. "I mean, no. Not really." He paused again. "But yes."

"Well, which is it? Has he changed or not?"

But Harry wasn't sure how to explain it. He wasn't sure anymore if Malfoy had changed, or if he was really the same person and Harry had just never known who he was. After all, Malfoy was still a smug asshole, but he wasn't quite the same brand of smug asshole that Harry had always associated him with. "I guess," he started, groaning internally as he realized what he was about to say, "he's not as bad as I thought he was."

"Uh huh," Cho replied, obviously unconvinced. "Isn't this the kid who—"

"—Tried convince everyone that I had syphilis? Yeah."

"Actually, I was thinking about the stink bomb."

"Oh, I guess there was that too," Harry acknowledged. "I guess in his defense, I did spend the previous gym class throwing baseballs at his back when the teacher wasn't looking." Cho didn't look very convinced by Harry's defense.

Fortunately, the food arrived at that point, and the interruption provided a chance to abruptly switch the topic of conversation. He wasn't sure why he felt such a strong desire to defend Draco's reputation, and this whole conversation was running contrary to his instincts. Still, the history between him and Draco was just that—a history between the two of them. Hearing some outsider discuss this past as if she could possibly comprehend the intricacies of their rivalry annoyed him for some reason he wasn't sure he wanted to understand.

But with the exception of that conversation, the dinner was fun. It was nice, Harry decided, to not be on guard with someone he found attractive. At points throughout the night, he conceded that it would have been nice to be engaged to someone made him feel so at ease.

Then Cho invited him up to her apartment.

At the time, it just seemed like a fun excursion to the home of a friend. They were grown-ups now, with grown-up apartments and grown-up décor. It's like when you're a kid and you want to show off your room and toys to all your friends, only now it was with apartments and kitchen appliances.

As Cho boiled some water for tea, Harry was scanning the coffee table, which was littered with magazines. Curious about a title he saw in the pile, he dug through. His hand hit a sharp edge, and when he grabbed at it, he pulled out a photo frame. Someone had scribbled on the glass in permanent marker, clearly trying to black out half of the photo. Cho's beautiful smiling face appeared from the unblemished half. It didn't take much detective work to figure out that Cedric Diggory's handsome face lay under the darkened section. Harry quickly put the frame back down, but not before Cho saw him, two mugs of tea in her hand. She froze at the sight of the photo, a sudden sadness overwhelming her features.

Heat rushed to Harry's face. "Sorry…I didn't mean…."

"No…no. It's okay." Cho shook her head slightly, as if to shake the frown off her face. She offered one of the mugs to Harry, who rushed forward to accept it. "I thought I had thrown that picture away. I guess not." Harry just offered a meek smile in return, unsure of the best way to deal with the situation. The two stood awkwardly in silence, taking light sips of the tea. When Cho spoke again, she wore a distant look. "He didn't even have a good reason, you know. He said that we had changed too much, but what does that even mean?" She looked up imploringly at Harry, tears forming in her eyes.

Harry suddenly wished that Hermione were around. She usually knew how to deal with these situations that involved girls and emotions and stuff. She could have given him a full report with several strategies for how to best approach the challenge. "Um," he started, not sure quite where he was going with this thought, "I guess he thought you both changed a lot from high school? Like you two grew up?" Harry punched himself in the face mentally.

"Of course we both grew up, but why would that mean we can't be together anymore?" The tears had escaped her eyes, forming wet trails down her cheeks. "Sorry, I'm being such a mess. It's just, this is the first time I've been alone in a really long time, and it's really scary." She set down her mug and quickly wiped the tears. "Oh god, you must think I'm crazy. We were having such a good time tonight too." She smiled so sweetly at Harry that he felt his heart skip a beat. Setting his mug down, he reached forward and awkwardly patted her on the head.

"You know, Harry," she continued, "you've grown up a lot. I remember when you asked me to the dance. I thought you were just so adorable."

Harry smiled. "That's every guy's dream—to be called 'adorable' by his high school crush."

Cho's faced flushed slightly. "So you really did have a crush on me? My friends all said you did, but I didn't really believe them."

"I had a huge crush on you," Harry said, "but I guess Cedric was always the big winner."

"I wonder what would have happened," she replied wistfully, "if I had gone to the dance with you instead of Cedric." She was suddenly a lot closer to Harry, though he wasn't quite sure when she had stepped forward. He could smell the sweet flower in her perfume. "Maybe it would have been better if we had gone together."

Harry felt frozen to the ground. She was so close that Harry could see his reflection in her wet eyes. There was a time when he would have done anything to be so close to her. Even now, the temptation to reach out and run her hair through his fingers was strong. It was easier, so much easier, to want her than to want Malfoy. Malfoy didn't make sense; he was the embodiment of everything Harry had resented for almost a decade. There was no logic in craving his touch and delighting in his pleasure.

But Cho, it made sense for Harry to want to touch her and kiss her. She was beautiful and kind and intelligent, and there was a part of Harry that wanted nothing more than to want her. But that desire was starting to feel more like a memory, a remembrance of something he had once wanted and long acknowledged he would never have.

And as she edged closer, a slim hand resting on Harry's chest while she raised herself to meet his lips, he was distracted by all the things she was not. She was not tall, blonde, and male. She was not infuriating, obnoxious, and arrogant. And for some reason Harry didn't want to acknowledge, this meant that everything was wrong. Her lips were too delicate, her smell too sweet, her hair too long, her hands too small, and her kiss too gentle.

He stepped back, an apologetic look on his face. Sad understanding crossed Cho's face. Softly, she said, "I guess you grew out of me too."


	10. Chapter 10

As he headed home, Harry found himself entrenched in a moral dilemma regarding Draco Malfoy, a concept so utterly foreign to him that he was tempted to forego the whole process and just punch Malfoy in the face so that everything could return to normal. After all, they were engaged, but that didn't really mean they were in a relationship, right? He didn't have to tell Malfoy that Cho had kissed him. He didn't owe Malfoy any sort of explanation. He wasn't required to hear Malfoy's arrogant voice express the sentiment everyone dreads to hear: "I told you so."

Besides, Malfoy probably wouldn't even care. Harry had ended the kiss almost as soon as it started, so it wasn't exactly a big deal. And since the likelihood that Malfoy was emotionally invested in who Harry kissed was approximately zero, there was no real need to keep him up to date.

This thought had just occurred to Harry when Hermione's voice started sounding reason in his head. This wasn't a surprising occurrence; if Hermione had a super power, it was the ability to interject her voice into any moral quandary. She might not actually know that Harry was currently debating whether he was required to tell his fiancé that another person had just kissed him, but that didn't mean that Hermione couldn't exert her influence.

"Harry," inner-voice-Hermione started in a voice full of reproach, "you have to tell him."

"I don't want to!" Harry felt infantile as he thought it, but without the presence of an audience, the childish thoughts flowed freely in his mind.

"Stop being petulant," Hermione's voice scolded, "You are a grown adult, and you need to act your age."

"But it's not like Malfoy even cares who I kiss. He'll probably be relieved."

"Perfect," she countered, "That means that you have no reason to not tell him."

"Yeah, but he's going to make fun of me," Harry pleaded. "He said this was going to happen, and now he's going to tell me that he was right."

"Harry James Potter, how old are you? Five? Grow the fuck up." Harry was starting to think that his mind was having a difficult time replicating the typical eloquence of his friend. "And what are you?" the voice continued in a harsh tone, "Chicken? Afraid of the big bad Draco making a little fun of you?" And with that, it was official: Harry's subconscious had no sympathy for his plight.

Harry groaned, shutting his eyes in a desperate attempt to shut out Hermione's voice. The plan was successful, mostly because he leaned his head back suddenly enough to hit it hard against the headrest, the soft pain offering a brief reprieve. Still, the internal debate raged on until the taxi reached his apartment. As he paid the driver, Harry still couldn't figure out what he was going to say to Draco, if he said anything at all. Each step to the apartment seemed to punctuate his indecision.

He should tell Draco.

Step.

No, that's a dumb idea.

Step.

But it's the right thing to do.

Step.

But is it really?

Step.

Yes.

Step.

Fine, but did Malfoy really deserve the right thing?

Step.

Maybe not, but that's no excuse.

Step.

Shit, the doors only a few feet away. There's still time to run away.

Step.

But then the Hermione voice in your head is going to call you a chicken for the rest of your life.

Step.

When he finally managed to get ahold of himself and open the door to the apartment like a normal functioning person, the sight of Draco reading a book with his back against the arm of the couch while the TV was on almost inspired him to run quickly in the opposite direction. Instead, he quickly walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a beer.

"Have you just been sitting here all night?" he asked when finally felt his nerves calm down.

"It's been a long week," Draco replied defensively. "Sometimes you just want to spend your Friday night at home reading and watching TV with a beer to keep you company."

"Isn't drinking by yourself considered a sign of alcoholism?"

Draco looked over at Harry. "I'm unusually grateful for your presence then," he said, raising his glass in acknowledgment.

Harry joined Draco on the couch, watching as three attractive men on the screen worked to battle some supernatural crisis.

"You've never seen this show before, have you," Draco noted, laughing at Harry's perplexed expression as one of the men used salt to draw a circle on the ground.

"No, I'm trying to figure out what's going on. Something about the end of the world?"

"Well, those two are brothers," Draco explained, pointing at two of the men. And then pointing at a man in a trench coat he added, "The other one is an angel."

"An angel? But didn't he just say something about defying god?"

"Yeah, he does that."

"Is it because he's in love with that older brother guy?" Harry asked, waving a finger vaguely at the TV.

"Excellent, Potter," Draco said. "I never thought you would be so good at picking up subtext."

Harry pretended to not hear Draco's back-handed compliment. "Is it really subtext if they obviously want to make out with each other?"

"I guess it is when the writers refuse to acknowledge their undying love for each other."

"And you still watch the show?"

"The guys are pretty." Harry nodded, acknowledging the validity of this point. "Plus, I always hope that if I watch long enough, the writers will come around and realize that they've effectively written one of the greatest romances of all time."

"And is there any sign that will happen?"

"No. This is an older episode, but the longer the show goes, the more they fuck it up."

Harry continued watching the show, unsure of how anyone could argue that there was no love between the angel and the older brother. He was so lost in thought that he had almost completely forgotten what it was he was supposed to be telling Draco. It was only when Draco casually asked him, "So, how was dinner?" in a taunting tone that Harry froze up, remembering the dilemma he should have settled by now.

"It was good," he replied, covering his anxiety with a hurried sip of his beer.

"Good? Is that all?" Draco barely looked up from his book as he asked the question.

"Um…the food was really good." Harry hoped that Draco couldn't see the heat that was rushing to his cheeks.

"Yes, Potter," Draco sighed, "We've already established that things were good."  
"And…um…she cried about breaking up with Cedric."

Malfoy briefly glanced up, an eyebrow arched in surprise. "That sounds less good."

"And then she kissed me." Harry mumbled the last sentence, hoping that the words would only just slip into Malfoy's awareness.

Malfoy's reply was a very succinct, "Oh." Harry considered accepting that response and moving on, but his personality was not trained to ignore an obvious provocation.

"'Oh'? Is that it?"

"I'm filled with an all-consuming jealousy, Potter," Draco replied blandly. "I will now proceed to rage incoherently about how you have violated the purity of our blessed union." He turned the page and continued reading.

Harry rolled his eyes. He was just starting to get off the couch when Draco quickly threw his book aside. Before he could process what was happening, Harry found himself back on the couch. Draco was now straddling him, his arms planted firmly on the couch so that Harry was trapped. "So," Draco asked, a cruel grin playing across his face, "how was it?"

Harry tried to push Draco aside, but this only caused Draco to further settle down into his hips. The sudden friction between their groins inflamed Harry as he collapsed back into the couch. "I thought you weren't jealous," he replied irritably.

"I'm not," Draco answered coolly. "But you just got kissed by a woman you've had a crush on since puberty and who happens to be on the rebound. I want to know how you managed to fuck it all up."

"What makes you think I fucked anything up?"

"A firm belief that you have been placed in this world for my entertainment." When Harry went silent and refused to make eye contact, Draco's grin grew even larger. "You DID fuck it up, didn't you!"

"No!" Harry insisted. "I didn't do anything."

"Come on, tell me. I won't tell anyone," Draco promised. "Well, I might start a blog just to announce to the world, but I won't actually tell anyone. So tell me, what was it? Did you eat too many onions at dinner? Did you use too much tongue? Because I'm fine with your tongue-to-kiss ratio, but I could see a person of a more delicate constitution finding it a bit overwhelming. Oh! I have it!" Draco paused dramatically, "Did you fart?"

"Nothing!" Harry practically yelled in Draco's face. "I didn't do anything."

"Well, that's good," Draco's voice becoming meaner, "Because the more I think about it, the more I think this works for everyone. Cho gets her rebound, and if you ever knock her up, we can adopt the kid."

"Malfoy—"

"I mean, we don't usually let bastards into the family, but clearly we've started making exceptions."

"Do you really enjoy being an asshole, Malfoy?" Harry countered furiously, "Or am I just a special case?"

"You know what I find fascinating about you, Potter?" Draco spat out as he leaned forward. "No matter what you do, you're never in the wrong."

"That's not true," Harry replied, trying to avoid staring at Draco's lips as they got closer.

"Really?" Draco played loosely with Harry's tie, his eyes zeroing in on a small piece of lint. "Because let's run down tonight's events. You went to dinner with a woman you've had a crush on since you were in high school. This dinner took place at one of the most romantic restaurants in the city, and yet you had naiveté to think you weren't on a date. And when the dinner turns into a date and you kiss her, but your fiancé has the gall to not respond with enthusiastic applause, I'm the asshole. Not you. Me. But wait," Draco paused, a hint of venom permeating the momentary silence, "Let me guess. There's something missing from the story that somehow makes you the good guy after all."

Harry wasn't sure if he should take such satisfaction in the truth. "…I didn't kiss her."

Draco stared sharply at Harry. "What?"

"I didn't kiss her. She kissed me, but I backed off."

The sight of complete shock on Draco's face was priceless. "You…you didn't kiss her?"

Harry was sure that his cheeks were bright red in embarrassment. "Er…no."

"Well, why not?"

"…I don't know. I just didn't want to."

"I hope you didn't do it out of some great dedication to this marriage," Draco declared. "I would hate to be at the root of your gallantry." Harry didn't reply, avoiding Draco's stare by looking off in the distance. Draco leaned closer, his mouth brushing Harry's ear. "Tell me, Potter," his lips forming the words along the ridge, "what the fuck were you thinking about when you decided to not kiss Cho?"

Harry tensed beneath Draco. "You," he answered, not sure why he had decided to answer so honestly.

Draco bit down hard on his lobe in response, eliciting a loud gasp from Harry. "Liar," he sneered harshly.

Draco pushed himself up, but before he could remove himself from his straddling position, Harry reached out with one arm and wrapped it around Draco's back, pulling him back down. Draco just barely managed to get his arms around Potter, preventing him from completely collapsing. "Malfoy," Harry began brutally, "Don't try to pretend that you know what I'm thinking or who I'm thinking about."

"Geesh, Potter," Draco tried to sound unperturbed, "you don't need to get so hurt when someone calls you a liar. I get called a liar all the time—even when I'm telling the truth."

Harry responded by pushing Draco harder against his lap and using his free hand to pull Draco towards him by his t-shirt. "Do you want to know what I'm thinking about now?" The hand around Draco's back reached underneath the shirt. He began to run his index finger down, putting pressure with his nail so that he was scratching a thin line down Draco's spine. Draco closed his eyes; the pain seemed to only enhance the pleasure of Harry's touch.

"No," Draco tried to reply, only to find his voice muffled by his own gasps for air. Harry deepened the pressure of his nail in response, digging deeper as he reached the middle of Draco's back. The sharp sensation forced Draco to arch forward so that he almost fell entirely on the dark-haired man beneath him. "Yes," he cried out in a combination of arousal and defeat. "Fine, yes!"

"You," Harry replied calmly, only the lustful gleam in his eye offering any hint at what he felt about the man currently squirming in his lap. He continued to scrape down Draco's back, taking in the way Draco throw his head back and shut his eyes as a moan worked down his throat. He reached down and unbuckled Draco's belt, a small smirk appearing on his face as he worked the zipper down and realized that Draco was hard from his coarse touch.

Draco began to run his lips down Harry's neck, biting down just hard enough to elicit a soft groan when he reached the base. "You know what else I've been thinking about?" Harry continued, his voice becoming uneven as he tried to talk through Draco's ministrations. This time, he didn't wait for Draco to reply. "I've been thinking about how nice it would be to bend you over my desk and fuck you. I've been thinking about how great it would be to have my hand wrapped around your cock as I come inside of you. I've been thinking of how much I want to hear your voice screaming my name."

As Harry kept talking, Draco's mouth had become rougher, his teeth decidedly less gentle as it latched on to the soft skin so that Harry's words devolved into a series of groans. "So what's keeping you, Potter?" he challenged after releasing his neck. "Are you scared?"

Harry replied true to form, pulling Draco's head back and crushing their lips together. When he broke apart, Draco almost cried out in disappointment, willing to beg for more, dignity be damned. But then he saw Harry spit onto his fingers, and suddenly the room was much too hot as his own anticipation grew. He hastily removed his shirt, enjoying the way Potter eyes skimmed down his now naked torso.

Harry pulled Draco even closer to him, both men breathing deeper as their erections rubbed against each other. Harry's wet fingers were now trailing down Draco's lower back before dipping underneath the fabric of his jeans and boxers. Draco began to undo Harry's tie and shirt, running his hands up and down the bare chest as Harry teased one of his fingers around Draco's entrance.

Draco captured Harry's lips in his own, gasping into the kiss as the slick digit entered him. He relaxed his body, letting Harry slowly insert his finger further before beginning a measured rhythm, setting a deliberate pace that had Draco clinging to him for support. As he became accustomed to the feeling inside of him, Draco began to grind his hips against Harry, stopping only when Harry found the spot that made Draco cry out for more.

The TV was still blaring, but an explosion could have taken place on screen and neither of them would have known. Finally, Draco couldn't take it. "Bedroom! Now," he ordered.

"Which one?" Harry moaned back.

"Yours," Draco replied assertively. "It's closer."

Harry could have easily argued that Draco's room was only three feet past his own, but he could see the man's point. An extra three feet seemed like it would take an eternity to cross. As it was, it took the two a long time just to reach Harry's room. This was likely the result of their attempts to walk while stripping each other naked. The fact that they were refusing to break the contact between their lips probably only complicated matters. And of course, Potter had insisted on pushing Draco against a wall, letting his fingers rake down Draco's chest as he thrust hard so that their erections were rubbing against each other. Draco would have objected so that they could hurry their path to the bedroom, but the lust-driven naked Potter was a sight he had never beheld and was finding very hard to resist.

When they finally reached his room, Draco broke apart. He walked over to Harry's nightstand, opening drawers until found what he was looking for. Harry was going to protest at this intrusion into his private property, but then he saw the bottle of lube that he had stashed after moving now casually dangling from one of Malfoy's hands. The gray eyes were glittering as Draco edged onto the bed, squirting some of the lube onto his hand. Malfoy was now spread before him with the slippery substance around his fingers, running his hand down his body and inserted his finger where Harry's had been. He immediately let out a loud moan, his eyes closing and his back arching as he continued to touch himself. Harry had never thought of what it would look like to see Malfoy like this, but it was unlikely that he be able to forget the image.

"Staring is fine, Potter," Malfoy teased, "But surely you had something more direct in mind?"

Harry snapped out of his reverie, climbing onto the bed. The sight of Malfoy touching himself was driving him crazy, taunting him as thoughts of everything he wanted to do to the other man seemed to become one mass fantasy in his head. He licked a slow trail from Malfoy's groin to the base of his neck before returning to the lips he found so entrancing. Malfoy grabbed Harry's ass, effectively pushing him up Draco's body until Harry had his hands against the wall, his knees straddling Draco's shoulders. With his free hand, Malfoy ran his thumb down Harry's length and caressed the tip with his tongue. He moved his tongue down, lightly massaging the balls with his lips before working his way back up and taking the full length of the erection in his mouth.

From his vantage point, Harry could see Malfoy working his mouth as he continued to thrust his fingers inside himself. As his hips bucked forward, causing him to thrust into the hot mouth below him, Harry continued to stare at the erotic sight beneath him. "God, Malfoy," he moaned, his breathing becoming even more ragged. Draco opened his eyes, desire swimming in their depths. Harry didn't know what it was about Malfoy, but he couldn't remember the last time he had wanted one person so badly.

He didn't want to move from this position, but finally he knew that he couldn't hold on any longer. Mustering up the last vestiges of self-control he had left, he moved back down so that his chest was lined up with Draco's. Draco and Harry looked at each other, silently acknowledging that they were about to go past the point of no return. If either of them had any qualms about proceeding, they quickly forgot these issues as they assessed each other's bodies.

Draco removed his fingers, reaching out to guide Harry. As he entered, Harry let out an aroused growl as he felt the exquisite tightness around him. Draco exhaled, moving his hips slowly to get his body accustomed to the feeling of Potter moving inside of him. Harry began to move his hips in response, slowly increasing his speed until he and Draco were urgently thrusting against each other.

A layer of sweat began to form between their bodies as they both gave in to what was becoming an overwhelming need. Draco's arms were around Harry's back, his nails digging into hard muscle. "Please, Potter," Draco implored, trying to catalyze Harry to thrust harder and faster into him, a request that Potter happily acquiesced to. Their lips crashed into each other, their tongues waging an intense battle that matched the fury of their bodies' desires.

The idea that Potter was inside of him, driving Draco crazy with the sight of his taut body thrusting, was suddenly intoxicating. Malfoy never thought that he would be excited by the knowledge that Potter could do this to him, but right now, the idea of being fucked by Potter of all people seemed to make perfect sense. All of his resentment for the other man took a backseat to the incredibly sensation created by the friction of their bodies. With a great shudder, Draco came, his orgasm adding to the slick layer between his body and Potter's. Harry followed soon after, his breath coming in irregular gasps as he tried to catch his breath.

The two stared at each other, their chests heaving as they tried to make sense of what had just taken place. Harry removed himself, blushing slightly as he looked at the mess that had formed across the two of them. Walking over to his closet, he rummaged through a pile of clothes that were on the ground and tossed Draco a ratty t-shirt that was riddled with holes.

"Really, Potter?" Draco asked, skeptical that anyone would bother to keep such a useless piece of cloth in his closet.

Harry had managed to find another equally destroyed t-shirt. "You're free to get up and get your own towel," he answered as he wiped his torso with the shirt, "I just thought you might appreciate getting a little cleaned up before you head back to your room."

Draco had to acknowledge that Potter had a point and proceeded to try and remedy the situation on his own torso. He couldn't stop staring at the black-haired man, appreciating the sight of a completely naked Harry Potter. Blaise had a point—Potter really had grown into an attractive person. Looking at strength evinced by the muscles that made up his back and legs, it was hard to imagine that Potter had ever been the skinny little kid who barely filled out his uniform when he'd first started high school.

This was the first time Draco had been in Potter's room after Potter's move. He wasn't quite sure what he had expected out of it, but the room seemed to fit. There wasn't much in the way of decoration, just the basic furniture and some framed photos. On the nightstand was a picture of a red-haired woman with eyes so green they seemed to shine like jewels. Next to her was a black-haired man, a broad grin on his face. A small baby completed the photo, his hair shooting off in every direction as he giggled at something in the distance.

"These are your parents?" It was more of a statement really. There was no way that Potter's face and bright green eyes came from anyone other than these two individuals.

Harry walked over and picked up the photo. "Yeah." He sat down next to Draco, a wistful look filling his eyes. "According to Sirius, he was waving a stuffed owl behind the camera to get me to look in the right direction, but when he took the picture, I got distracted by a real bird."

"Sirius?"

"My godfather."

"Ah." Draco took the photo from Harry's hands, looking closer at the happy family. "You look so much like your dad—"

"—but with my mother's eyes," Harry completed for him. "Yeah," he laughed, "I get that a lot."

There was still a sad look in his eyes, and for a moment, Draco wished that he could somehow wipe it away. "Hey," he noticed suddenly, "you don't have that scar in this picture."

Harry instinctively reached up to touch his scar, his fingers remembering the shape of the lightning bolt that appeared on his forehead. "I got it in the accident. It's basically the only injury I got."

"The accident? You mean, the one—"

"Yeah," Harry interrupted, not wanting to say the words out loud. He didn't usually talk about his parents with others; Hermione and Ron were among the few who knew what he had gone through. Still, it was strangely calming to sit here next to Malfoy, talking about his parents. "They were cops. Apparently, my mom hated my dad for a long time, but she told him that if he ever saved a baby from a burning building, she would consider going on a date with him."

"So he did?"

"No, of course not," a faint smile appeared on Harry's face. "But they got stuck on a case together, and he took a bullet for her. I guess that's the next best thing to saving a baby." Draco laughed with Harry. Their shoulders were touching, a strangely intimate contact for the two men, even with their recent activities. "It was a drunk driver," Harry continued. "He hit us straight on. Apparently, it was a miracle that I didn't get injured."

"Is Sirius the guy who would show up at all of our games?" Draco asked, recalling the wild black-haired man who always cheered vociferously for Harry.

"Yeah. My dad and him were practically brothers. He kind of went a little crazy after the accident, so I didn't get to go with him." Harry swallowed as he thought about the one person who had looked after him as a kid. "He cleaned up his act eventually, but he didn't have the money to raise me. He was the one whole told me to apply for the scholarship though, so I guess I owe a lot of where I am to him."

The urge to put his arm around Potter grew inside of Draco, if only to provide some semblance of comfort. "Where is he now?"

Harry waited a few seconds, swallowing back the lump that had formed in his throat before responding. "He passed away last year. Cancer."

"Oh," Draco replied softly, placing the photo gently back on the desk. "I'm sorry."

"Of all the things you should apologize for, Malfoy," Potter replied with a sardonic grin, "I don't think that's one of them."

The bed around them had sunk from the pressure of their bodies, causing their hands to brush against each other. Draco reached out with his other hand, lightly lifting Harry's chin. He leaned forward and swept his lips down Potter's forehead, tracing the thin lightning-shaped scar. Harry closed his eyes, sinking into the soft touch.

Draco gently placed a kiss on Potter's lips before breaking away. The two looked away from each other, confused about the sudden affection that had taken place. Fucking each other crazy was one thing, but any semblance of emotional closeness was just too much.

"So…um…I'm going to go take a shower now," Draco offered awkwardly, standing up and running his hand through his hair.

"Er…yeah…right."

"Okay then."

"Yeah."

The two men stared at each other, unsure of how to proceed after a moment of emotional catharsis. Finally, with an embarrassed, "Um…bye then…" Draco left the room, slapping himself mentally at the stupidity of saying "bye" to the roommate you just had sex with when all you're doing is going to the bathroom.

 

*****

 

Saturday morning managed to be only slightly less awkward than the night before. They grunted their good mornings to each other some time in the early afternoon, barely raising their heads from their breakfast. Neither of them wanted to admit that they had spent most of the night reliving the feeling of the other's body and debating the merits of just walking to the other room for another goo dfuck. Harry had almost completely forgotten about Cho as thoughts of Malfoy, slick with sweat beneath him, kept his blood hot through the night.

Their phones both rang at the same time. The interruption seemed welcome until they both looked down to read the message that had been sent to both of them. Harry set down the phone on the table, glaring at it as if it had just turned into a stinking pile of shit. "We could always tell them we planned a trip or something," Draco offered with a kindness Harry was starting to find comforting. "We don't have to go if you don't want to."

The text from Narcissa was still bright on the screen of Harry's phone, the message describing the dinner party the Dursleys had invited them to the next week still flashing at them both.

"No," Harry replied, his voice firm with resolve. "It's just a dinner party. What's the worst that can happen?"


	11. Chapter 11

For the first time since they had first met, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter seemed to find themselves in firm agreement. Sex, they both silently acknowledged, was something they should repeat with each other as often as possible with little regard to time or place. Both men were very willing to cultivate this rare accord, working together at late hours of the night to ensure that they were both satisfied with the terms of this unofficial treaty. Other implied aspects of this treaty included "no sleeping together" and "no mention of the impending dinner party of doom," both of which were easy to uphold given the proximity of their bedrooms and the ability to occupy their time with activities that proved more thrilling than any reference to the Dursleys. Draco was starting to wonder why they had never thought to do this back in school—why it had never occurred to them that a blow job was a more productive use of time than a fist fight.

This agreement was also the likely explanation for why Draco's shirt was currently unbuttoned and he was bent over, his palms flat against the window of Harry's office as he stared at the city laid down far below, wondering if the people on the street might be able to look up and witness the sight of two men fucking in the foreboding building that housed the Malfoy Corporation.

Draco had found himself in the building due to Narcissa's insistence that they start planning the wedding. Having taken over an abandoned conference room for use as official wedding headquarters, she had asked Draco and Harry to come in and meet with her assembled army of party planners. Draco had little desire to attend, but he would be damned if Potter's lackluster taste was taken into account for an event that bore Draco's name.

When he arrived, Potter was still occupied with a meeting on the same floor that seemed to be going over time. Draco leaned against the wall across from the room, watching Harry through the window that separated his meeting from the hallway. Potter's presence was commanding, reminding Draco of the ease with which Harry had been able to lead in school and on the field. There was something honest about him that inspired confidence in those who chose to follow him. His leadership wasn't born out of an arrogant belief that he was entitled to command others. No, Draco realized, Potter never asked for power. It was merely handed to him because he had the means to yield it effectively. And more than that, people wanted to follow Harry. It was this trait, Draco considered as he watched Lucius consider Potter's words with admiration and respect, that he had probably hated the most about him. And yet now, there was something about watching Harry issue directives to a room full of powerful men and women that captivated Draco.

Harry looked out from his meeting, his gaze locking into Draco's. Draco felt his face become hot as he realized that he was staring at Potter with a peculiar combination of approval and desire. He refused to believe that the small smile Harry shot him before returning to his meeting had anything to do with the warmth now spreading through his body.

When the meeting finally finished, a progression of Indian businessmen walked out, chattering excitedly about what Draco assumed was the agreement that had just been reached in the confines of the room. A broad grin was on Lucius' face as he exited with Harry, patting his future heir proudly on the shoulder.

"I assume it went well then," Draco asked, ignoring the stab of jealousy in his chest as he tried to recall the last time Lucius had expressed any sort of pride in him.

"Yes, yes," Lucius replied enthusiastically. "Harry here just worked out an amazing deal for us. We've been trying to settle this contract for ages, and Harry just managed to work the whole thing out like it was nothing." He turned and grinned again at Potter. "It's good to know the company will be in good hands."

"It was nothing," Harry said, looking slightly abashed at the effusive praise.

"Nonsense, Potter," Draco interjected coolly, lightly touching Harry's arm. "Where would we be without you to save the day?" Potter glanced at him uneasily, presumably unsettled by Draco's newfound willingness to interject flirtation into his public insults.

"Speaking of," Lucius said, looking down at his watch, "your mother is probably waiting for the two of you. At this rate, she'll have planned the whole thing without you."

"You're not joining us?" Harry asked.

"Oh, good lord, no," Lucius said, his eyes widening and fingers tightening in an unusual expression of fear. "I wish you two luck though. I'm not sure you know what you're getting into."

"I've seen Mom plan parties before," Draco pointed out.

"Yes," Lucius replied sympathetically, "but I don't think you've ever seen her plan a wedding."

 

*****

 

"If I never have to see a flower again," Draco exclaimed from a plush chair, "I will die a happy man." He had returned with Potter to his office, waiting for him to finish his work before heading back home. "I can't believe it took us three hours to get out of there."

"Well, if you hadn't issued death threats over cake toppers, we could have been done a lot faster," Harry pointed out, scribbling some notes onto a document in front of him.

"I'm sorry if I don't see why people always insist on cake for weddings. Why can't we just have stacks of apple pie or something instead?"

Harry capped his pen and looked up. "Wedding pie? Seriously?"

Draco leaned back in his chair and stacked his feet on Harry's desk. "If you are about to offend the good name of pie, I will have to ask you to leave this room."

"This is my office," Harry answered, staring pointedly at Draco's feet.

"And it's a great improvement from that temporary office you had before—"

"—why thank you—"

"—but that doesn't mean that you're allowed to suggest that cake is better than pie without suffering some sort of consequence."

"I don't have any strong preferences," Harry sighed as he looked back down. "I just think weddings should usually have cakes."

"What!" Draco swung his legs back on the ground and quickly stood up. "This is a new low, Potter, even for you."

"I'm not the only one who likes wedding cake," Potter replied, seemingly unperturbed by Draco's passionate dedication to fruit encased by pastry dough. "In fact, I think they're pretty popular."

"Right, because the masses always know what's best for them." Draco walked around the desk, trailing his finger along the tabletop.

Potter watched him warily as Draco made his way next to him. "You just enjoy the smug feeling of superiority that comes with being contrarian."

"True," Draco answered, sliding onto the desk. "But that doesn't mean that a wedding pie wouldn't be a good idea."

"Do you mind?"

Draco looked down to see what Potter was pointing at. Apparently, he had taken residence on top of some papers that Harry was in dire need of. Leaning over, he let Potter grab the documents. Draco was starting to find the whole process of waiting for Harry to finish his work very tedious, so he did what any other bored person waiting for his fiancé to finish his work would do: removing one of his shoes with the other, he reached out with his foot and began to tread a delicate path along Potter's thigh. He could feel the muscle tighten, but otherwise, Potter gave no sign that Draco's actions were having any effect. Fine, Draco decided, he could pretend too. Leaving his foot resting lightly on Harry's thigh, he stared out the window behind Harry. "I feel like when I was little."

"Hm?" Harry was furiously writing a reminder to himself on a post-it note.

"Sometimes I'd have to come here and wait to go home." His foot was approaching Potter's crotch.  
"I'm sure you were a very well-behaved child." Potter's voice was still level.

"The secretarial pool considers me the number one suspect for the Great Stapler Heist that happened twenty years ago."

Harry grunted softly when Draco's foot reached his groin, the first indication he had given yet that Draco's actions were having any effect on him. "I'm sure you were completely innocent of all charges."

"Innocent until proven guilty," Draco grinned, his foot kneading into the cloth-covered hardness.

Harry slammed down his pen. "Can you stop that!"

Draco only applied more pressure, earning a sharp hiss for his efforts. "I'm bored, Potter. You're taking too long."

"This isn't going to help me finish any faster." Harry's eyes were closed, his hands now gripping the edge of his desk.

"Really? You'll think it'll take that long?"

Harry threw Draco's leg off of him. Before Draco could lodge his official protest, Harry had grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him down for a grueling kiss. Draco felt Potter's warm hand caressing his leg, starting from his knee and working his way up. He wanted to move forward, to close the gap between them so that their bodies didn't have to be so damn far apart, but Potter had effectively pinned him to the table. The firm grip on his thigh was both arousing and incredibly frustrating, providing Draco a hint of what he wasn't allowed to get.

Potter broke the kiss, pushing Draco's body away from him. "Go to the window, Malfoy."

"What?" Draco hated to admit that the sound of Potter telling him what to do made his blood tremble with desire.

"The window. Go to it."

"Why?"

"Because I need to get my work done."

"There's not much incentive in that for me."

"Go to the window now, Malfoy," Potter commanded again, "before I decide that I'm not going to fuck you after I'm done with this paperwork."

Draco straightened his back. The threat of withholding sex was a serious one, one that even Potter wouldn't throw out lightly. Slipping his shoe back on, he obediently walked over to the window. Potter returned to his work as if nothing had happened, alternating between searching through files on his computer and filling out the blank spaces on the forms in front of him.

After a long period of quiet, Draco was relieved when Potter finally broke the silence. "What have you been staring so intently at?" Draco turned, surprised to see that Harry was looking at him.

"I was remembering how I used to look out my dad's office. I liked pretending that all the people down there were like little toys that I could move around."

Harry turned back to his work, but not before Draco saw the hint of a smile on his face. "Why does that not surprise me at all?"

"Because you enjoy asking rhetorical questions."

The sound of a papers being stacked on a desk made Draco's pulse race with impatience. It seemed like Potter was done, but Draco refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how urgent his own need was. He stared resolutely out the window, trying to count the number of people in the crowd. Even as he heard Potter stand up and put his things together, he didn't turn around. And when Potter's steps sounded behind him, he merely continued to stare out the window, hoping that nothing in his stance betrayed his growing anticipation.

Potter's arms were suddenly around him, trapping him against the window. The feeling of Harry's lips were created a line of fire down the back of his neck as his hot breath tickled the skin, sending heat throughout his entire body. Potter pressed even closer, letting his lips form a more insistent path down the side of Draco's neck. Draco arched his neck to allow Potter greater access, moaning when he felt the other man's tongue cross his pulse.

There was a part of Draco that wanted to turn around, to draw the same evidence of pleasure out of Potter. But as the other man's lips caressed his neck in between gentle nips, he felt himself sinking into Harry's body.

"Put your palms on the window," Potter dictated huskily into the nape of Draco's neck.

"Right," Draco breathed, "I almost forgot about your office domination fetish."

"I'd be glad to remind you," Potter whispered seductively as he reached down to grab Draco's wrists, holding his palms firm against the window.

"Of course you would," he shot back as Harry began to unbutton his shirt. "It would hardly be a day if you didn't try to act upon your control issues."

"Right, because I'm supposed to believe that this isn't part of some master plan on your part to gain the upper hand."

"You're going to ruin the surprise, Potter. Besides," Draco managed to spit out as one of Harry's hands slipped underneath the waistband of his pants, "you wouldn't like this half as much if that weren't true."

Harry laughed softly, his hand teasing Draco until Draco's arms collapsed forward into the window, his head hanging down as he gasped for air. Potter's free hand reached up, his fingers tracing Draco's bottom lip. Draco eagerly took them in his mouth, laving them with his tongue until they were slick. When Harry removed them, they both looked at each other through their reflection in the window. It was starting to get late, but the two were so intent on the shared hunger they saw in each other that they didn't notice the setting sun.

It took Potter little time to strip Draco of his lower garments, which was probably for the best. There was a time and place for a teasing, gentle approach to sex, but getting fucked in an office by Harry Potter was not one of them. As Potter's fingers entered him, beginning the pattern of thrusts that promised more to come, Draco's head crashed forward again. The view out the window became a hazy mass of darkening color as he lost the ability to focus on anything but the sensation of Potter's fingers spreading him and working his cock. It was a struggle to not release himself completely as the desire to give way entirely to the growing waves of pleasure was overshadowed only by the need to feel Potter inside of him first. Draco was practically whimpering at this point, his teeth around his own wrists as he tried to muffle the sound.

"Don't." Potter's voice maintained its authoritative tone in his ear. "I want to hear you." Draco complied, lifting his head so that his cries echoed around the room.

The only reprieve Draco got was when Potter had to take off his own pants. He never thought the sound of a zipper and buckle being undone could be arousing, but he had also never relinquished control quite like this before. And as the suggestive sound of pants falling reached his ears, Draco's pulse quickened in excitement.

Potter's initial entrance was slow, a physical recognition that saliva, while a useful secretion of the human body, was still not quite the same as lubricant. But as Draco became accustomed to the feeling, his body relaxed, allowing Potter to thrust faster and harder until his body was collapsed on top of Draco's, one arm out against the window for support as the other continued to massage Draco's erection. Draco could feel his name vibrating in the other man's throat before it resonated around the room.

There was nothing dignified about this. Their pants were around their ankles, they were pressed against a window, sweating into their shirts while they grunted and begged each other for more. Draco had some vague notion that maybe they should have checked if the door was locked, but the thought of interrupting Potter's grip on him made him forego that idea. All he could concentrate on was the incredible need he felt for Potter to keep touching him like this.

He heard what he had learned were the telltale moans of Potter's climax, followed by the haze of incredibly pleasure that signaled his own. The two men were left breathing hard against each other, still holding onto the window to keep from falling completely to the ground. When Potter pulled away, somehow managing the strength to pull himself up, Draco had to stop himself from protesting against the loss of heat against his body.

"Well, Potter," he said, after he had finally managed to work himself into a proper standing position, "I'm glad we finally got to appease your fetish. It would be a shame if your perversity went unsatisfied."

Harry snorted as he used a paper towel to clean off some of the window. "I must be a masochist to be doing any of this with you."

Malfoy's head shot up as he pulled his pants up. "Are you?" his eyes glittering with excitement. "Because that would be amazing in more ways than you can imagine."

Potter turned away before Draco could gauge his response, throwing the soiled paper towel away and gathering his belongings. When he looked back, there was still a faint hint of red on his cheeks. "Hurry up, Malfoy," he stated simply, watching Draco slowly button his shirt back up. "I'd hate for you to have to find your own way home."

 

*****

 

Potter's approach to dressing himself for the day was reminiscent of math problems Draco recalled from fifth grade that asked for the probability that an outfit chosen in the dark would actually match. While Draco found this approach to personal style somewhat pedestrian, he had begun to recognize Potter's mysterious ability to pull off these randomly generated ensembles. His only notable failure so far had been the morning he had come out of his room, completely obvious to the fact that was wearing a tie decorated with Santa Clauses, reindeer, and various holiday messages. Draco had laughed so hard that he spit tea all over the kitchen floor.

The day of the dinner party with the Dursleys proved to be very different though. Draco had managed to shower, dry his hair, comb it, select an outfit, select a back-up outfit, change into the first outfit, decide that he didn't want to wear that outfit, change into the back-up outfit, decide that he didn't want to wear that after all, go back to the first outfit, and then comb his hair again before he realized that the door to Harry's room had been shut the whole time.

Knotting his tie as he crossed the hall, he knocked on Harry's door. "Potter, you ready?"

A very under-dressed Harry opened the door, a pile of clothes scattered behind him. "Almost," he replied, an undercurrent of aggravation lining his voice.

Draco walked past him to investigate the situation. Shirts and pants and ties were strewn across the bed and desk, hiding any semblance of furniture that occupied the room. "I think you can avoid wearing that horrible Christmas tie again without disposing your entire closet around the room," he noted as he jumped over a depressing clump of jeans.

"I don't know what to wear," Harry admitted. He was rummaging aimlessly through the piles, occasionally picking up an article of clothing before shaking his head and throwing it back. Draco had never witnessed such blatant disrespect for the sanctity of clothes. "It's dumb, isn't it?" he asked, avoiding Malfoy's stare as he pulled a sweater out of one clump. "I don't know why all my clothes seem so stupid right now."

"They've always been stupid," Draco answered as he analyzed a set of shirts on the ground. "You've just been too stupid to realize that."

Harry shook his head and groaned. "I left that wide open for you, didn't I."

"Pretty much." Draco assessed the clothes around him and then methodically picked up a pair of pants, a shirt, and a sweater from various points in the room. "Here. Wear these," he instructed as he handed the clothes over.

Harry looked like he was going to protest until he looked down and witnessed the merits of Draco's stylistic ways. He mumbled a quick, "Thanks," as he pulled the sweater over his head. A minute later, after buckling his belt, Harry turned for the door as if to leave.

"Wait," Draco called out. "You're not done yet!"

Harry looked at Draco incredulously. "I'm wearing all my clothes, right? No Christmas tie that Ron got me as joke, right?"

"Yeah, but your hair!" Draco knew Potter was generally clueless, but surely even he could feel that there was a situation extending from his scalp that demanded urgent attention.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You and the damn hair."

"Yes, yes, 'the damn hair' is right," Draco sighed as he stepped towards Potter. He reached out and started fussing with Harry's head, running his fingers through the mess in an attempt to arrange the locks in a more presentable fashion.

When he stepped back to admire his handiwork, he realized that Harry was staring at him with an indecipherable look on his face. "Is my hair acceptable now?" he asked quietly.

Draco laughed softly. "Potter, the only way your hair would be acceptable is if you shaved it all off." Then, picturing Harry without any hair, Draco suddenly became very terrified. "Oh god, please don't shave your hair off. That would be horrifying."

"I don't know," Harry smiled as if contemplating the possibility. "It seems like the only way to get you to appreciate my hair is to force you to confront a world without it."

"Don't even joke about it, Potter," Malfoy replied, his eyes narrowed with intense rage. "If you appear in our wedding pictures with a shaved head, I will personally select a guest and shave their head so that I can staple their hair to your scalp."

Harry looked taken aback by the threat. "Where the hell do you come up with these things, Malfoy?"

Draco grinned dangerously at him. "Just don't shave your head, and you'll never have to find out if I mean it." Then, shifting quickly to a sickeningly sweet expression, he headed out the door. "Come on, honey," he said in a faux-sappy tone as he walked into the hall, "we don't want to be late for dinner."

 

*****

 

The Malfoy mansion often gave visitors the sense that they had walked into a museum, but thanks to Narcissa's careful curation, there was still a sense of the Malfoy identity in it. The Dursleys' house had the same feeling of a museum, but with the no semblance of taste or identity. Art filled with images of women gazing at fields of flowers filled the house, a trend that Draco noticed appeared to feature heavily in an interior decorating magazine Petunia had left out on the coffee table. Interspersed amongst the apparently trendy décor were frames that held family photos throughout the ages. But as Draco glanced through the pictures, one thing was clearly missing—Harry.

The desire to ask Harry more about the Dursleys had been gnawing at him for a while now, but he had taken Hermione's advice to heart. Now, as he watched Harry move with uncomfortable familiarity around the house he had grown up in, one thing became clear: no matter how much resentment Draco had against his own parents, he had never felt as distressed with them as Harry seemed to be around the Dursleys.

To be sure, Potter didn't actually look that upset. No, he offered smiles and easy conversation that gave the sense that he was, at the very least, having a pleasant time. But having spent a substantial part of his life trying to maximize the amount of stress in Potter's life, Draco knew better. He had a disturbingly obsessive catalogue of Potter's reactions to different forms of anxiety.

The symptoms compounded through the night. When Vernon dragged Harry off to introduce him to some big shots at his own company, Potter started fussing with the cuff of his left sleeve. When Petunia fawned over him and told stories about her dead sister, he developed a compulsion for cleaning his glasses. And every time Dudley walked by him, a subtle twitch developed in his legs, one that you wouldn't see unless you were looking for it. It was the same twitch Draco had learned to anticipate whenever Potter was about to make a run for it, whether it was because he had a goal to score or because Draco had just managed to trick him into an incriminating situation.

Still, everything was going fine until the dinner. The Dursleys' friends were proved to be as dull as them, ready with questions about what it was like to be in tabloids and prying for more details about some of Draco's more famous misadventures. Usually, the interaction turned stale when the person Draco was talking to realized that most graduate students don't have the time to live a provocative and glamorous life. Every once in a while, Vernon's booming voice would sound through the room as he bragged about the unveiling of a new drill his company had produced. Draco noticed that there was a distinct positive correlation between the ferocity of Vernon's boasts and the proximity of his own father.

But when they sat down for dinner, Draco began to feel a knot growing in his stomach. He was seated next to Harry, but Vernon was on Potter's other side, presiding as the head of the table. With Dudley across from them, Draco began to feel something akin to pity for his fiancé. Dudley seemed like the kind of guy who was good to have around if was on your side, but Draco was getting the impression that Dudley had rarely sided with Potter.

The appetizers didn't lead to anything of note. Not to say that they weren't delicious, it's just that they inspired little drama. But as Vernon poured more wine into his own glass and the hearty main course set in, the knot in Draco's stomach seemed to tighten further. Potter had been quiet for most of the dinner, amiably answering questions when they were asked of him but then letting the conversation smoothly die out. Draco spent most of this time calculating how much longer Potter had until he exploded.

"So!" Vernon began after most of the guests had finished their dessert. "We're happy all of you could make it today!" He waved his glass around enthusiastically, earning a severe stare from his wife when some of the red liquid sloshed onto the tablecloth. "As you all might have heard, our nephew, Harry Potter, is getting a huge promotion." Vernon paused, trying to recall the other salient point he was supposed to make. "And he's getting married!"

The people around the table started clapping. Harry just stared at his lap, a deepening red creeping across his cheeks. His entire body tensed up as Vernon reached out to jovially pat him on the back. "We're so proud of him!"

A woman who Draco had learned forty minutes before was the wife of one of Vernon's colleagues spoke out. "Well, it's all thanks to you and Petunia, of course," she declared shrilly to the table. "You raised him just like he was your own son." Vernon and Petunia looked at each other and beamed smugly down the table.

"And Dudley has always been such a great brother for him," another man chimed in. "I remember how he use to chase Harry all over the house. Those two used to have such fun." To his credit, Dudley was too busy digging into a piece of cake to acknowledge the statement. Harry started digging his palm into his thigh, his fingers forming sharp indentations in the fabric of his pants.

"Of course, we should thank Lucius and Narcissa," Petunia said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Raising two boys is so hard. We could never have been able to send Harry to such a good school. And we're so grateful to be able to welcome them into our family."

Lucius and Narcissa smiled politely back, but Draco his parents well enough to know that they weren't fooled. They may have not known what to make of the Dursleys before this night, but it was impossible that they hadn't inferred what he had. "We're excited for Harry to become part of our family," Narcissa replied, laying her voice with enough warmth to disguise her true feelings. "We're so proud of him and all of his accomplishments."

"Oh, yes. Oh, yes." Vernon cut in boisterously. "Always knew he'd make it, didn't we, Petunia."

"We did?" Dudley asked, his eyes wide with confusion.

"Oh, Duddleykins," Petunia said, laughing uncomfortably. "Of course we did."

Draco was worried that Potter was going to tear a hole in his pants. Without thinking, he reached out under the table, taking Harry's hand in his own. He rubbed his thumb over the ridges formed by the bones until Harry's hand began to relax. He let their fingers interlace, continuing his ministrations as he felt the rest of Potter's body begin to loosen up. It wasn't like Harry to be so quiet, to not speak out brashly and demand the truth, and it troubled Draco to see him so unwilling to fight back.

"Well, all we have left to do is the wedding," Vernon offered.

"Ooh, yes, Petunia, you throw the best parties," another woman Draco barely recognized.

"Oh, shh." Petunia waved her hand and feigned embarrassment, all the while looking hopefully at Narcissa. Harry's hand was starting to tense again, his grip tight around Draco's fingers. Draco wanted to signal him to loosen his grip, but the realization that Potter needed him kept him holding on.

"Have you two set a date?" one of the other guests asked.

"Hm? Oh, no. Not yet." Draco was impressed by the calm in Harry's voice.

"You'll have to let us know then, son," Vernon said, slapping Harry on the shoulder again. "We're really excited for this wedding."

Harry replied stoically, nodding slightly without really looking at Vernon. "Of course."

Draco couldn't really take it anymore. Potter was clearly in a bad position. He was surrounded by a group of people who firmly believed that his aunt and uncle were virtuous and had sacrificed everything to help their nephew. Anything he said now would make him look at best like an ungrateful asshole who had forgotten the people who had helped him from the time he was a baby.

Well, fuck it. Draco had spent most of his life looking like an ungrateful asshole. His reputation could always take another blow.

"You know, it's been so nice to meet you," Draco said, his voice taking on a silky dangerous quality. "I can't believe that I've known Harry this long without ever getting the chance to know you." Harry looked up sharply at him, a nervous expression on his face.

Petunia was radiating with satisfaction. "It's been very nice to meet you too."

"I'm sure you must have been very busy," Draco continued. "I can only imagine that's why I never got to introduce myself to you at all of the events we had at school. I mean, there were so many Parents Weekends and soccer games, but I never saw you at any of them."  
"Yes, yes. Very busy," Vernon replied casually, tilting his glass back to empty it before reaching for another bottle.

"I know, you two have worked so hard. What with your son and all? You should be really proud of him," Draco said as he watched Dudley wipe his chocolate-covered fingers on his shirt. "Your work has turned him into such a gentleman. And that drill company. Until tonight, I never knew drills could be so…fascinating. But I can understand why you never had any time to attend your nephew's events."

The atmosphere around the table had shifted, but Vernon had never been one to pick through layers of meaning. "Well, we'll be at the wedding!"

"No."

Everyone in the room looked at Draco, unable to miss the harshness in his tone. Vernon's eyes were narrowed as he tried to process what he had heard. "…excuse me?"

"You're not coming to the wedding."

"I'm sorry…I must have misunderstood—"

"If you heard me say, 'You're not coming to the wedding,' then no, I don't think you misunderstood." Draco was staring directly at him. "I don't want you there."

Vernon puffed his chest out in an animalistic attempt to make himself physically intimidating. "We are Harry's family! You can't just not invite us!"

"Yes," Draco said, tightening his grip on Harry's hand, "I can. And no, you're not Harry's family."

"You don't know what you're talking about, boy," said the shrill voice that had sang the Dursley's praises earlier. "Petunia and Vernon took Harry in when he was just an orphan. They raised him! He wouldn't be where he is now if it weren't for them."

"All these people did is the bare minimum to keep him a functioning member of society," Draco snapped back, glaring at her until she broke eye contact. "Harry wouldn't be where he is now without my parents, Sirius Black, and his own damn work."

"Sirius Black! That criminal!" Vernon started laughing. "He wasn't even allowed to take care of Harry!"

"You shut up about Sirius!" Harry's calm façade had suddenly contorted into ugly rage, his fist slamming hard on the table.

"Potter," Draco whispered, "calm down. I'll take care of this." Harry gave him a sullen look before resuming his silence. "Dursley, I have spent almost a quarter of my life wanting nothing more than to see Harry experience significant misery. Inviting you to this wedding would perhaps be the greatest victory I have ever achieved in this quest. And yet the thought of you at this wedding talking about everything you've never done for Potter makes me want to puke." Petunia squeaked a little, clearly concerned about the prospect of vomit on her precious tablecloth.

Draco kept going. "You haven't done anything for Harry that couldn't have been achieved by an army of ants. Anyone with critical thinking skills can tell just by looking around this house that you haven't given a shit about Harry ever. There isn't a single picture of him in the house. You don't even have pictures of his mom." Petunia's eyes widened at the mention of her sister, but she gave no defense for this fact. "There's still a mattress in the cupboard under the stairs. And every time your son walks by Harry, Dudley curls his fist into a ball as if he's getting ready to punch him."

Draco paused, willing his voice to slow down. "You haven't displayed one iota of interest in Harry's life until he became heir to one of the biggest corporations in the world. I can't believe you would even try to pretend that you care about him. I can't believe you would think you have any place in his life. And more importantly," he added thoughtfully, "your wife has terrible taste. I will not allow it anywhere near my wedding."

"Now see here," Vernon yelled, almost knocking over several glasses as he stood up angrily. "You can't just come in here and tell me whether or not I can go to my own nephew's wedding. You have no damn right." His face was breaking into red splotches. "I could have you kicked out right now if I wanted. You're just a little pretty boy who's not good enough to inherit his own father's company"

"Watch how you speak to my son," Narcissa interjected coldly. She and Lucius had both fixed withering looks towards the Dursleys. Lucius may have been more famous for his fearful gaze, but Narcissa's eyes could express a hellish fury that far exceeded any even her husband could muster up. Draco couldn't deny that he found some satisfaction in his mother's harsh expression. None of the other guests spoke up in the Dursleys' defense.

"Um…we're very sorry," Petunia offered meekly.

"For what?" Lucius was still glaring at her, but she didn't offer any response. Instead, she kept glancing between her husband, Harry, and Lucius, as if unsure of how to proceed.

Harry stood up, his hand still carefully in Draco's. "Let's just go."

"You sure, Potter?" Draco asked in a low tone.

"Yeah," Harry replied, his voice hardened with resolve. "I don't know why I thought this would be a good idea."

"But Harry, Lily would have wanted…." Petunia's voice was pathetic with desperation.

"Don't you dare," Harry cut in, practically shaking with fury. "Don't you dare mention my mother. What my mother would have wanted is for you to actually take care of me and not just give me permission to sleep here every night. She would have wanted you to feed me more than just Dudley's leftovers and give me clothes that actually fit instead of his cast-offs. She would have wanted you to give me a proper room without having my godfather threaten you into it. She would have wanted you to not let Dudley cheat off my homework and beat me to a pulp. She would have wanted you to treat me like I was actually part of your family and not some convenient showpiece for your false generosity. But you didn't manage any single one of those things, so don't tell me what my mother would have wanted."

Draco stood up. A grand release of decades of frustration seemed like the appropriate moment to leave. He dragged Harry by his arm, followed by Lucius and Narcissa. Before leaving the dining room, Draco turned to the stunned guests. "Well, it was nice meeting you all," he threw out sarcastically. "I hope you have a lovely evening."

Narcissa slapped him lightly on the arm. "Draco! Manners!"

"What?" he said, grinning at her failed attempt to suppress a proud smile. "That's what you always taught me to say."

 

*****

 

As they entered their apartment, Draco turned to Harry. "Are you upset with me?"

Harry was surprised by both the question and the sincerity with which Draco seemed to be asking it. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I shouldn't be, right?"

"I'd like to think not. But I guess that some people wouldn't be pleased with their private life being aired out in public without their permission."

"Indeed," Harry answered solemnly.

"But," Draco observed, "I also have a long distinguished history of refusing to respect your feelings."

"That's not exactly something to be proud of."

"No? I've enjoyed it so far," Draco replied. He took of his jacket and threw it on the couch. "And don't pretend that you didn't enjoy it at least a little bit."

Harry didn't know how to respond. It was true that watching someone render his uncle speechless had been a wonderful event. But at the same time, he had never been one to ask others to defend him. On top of all that was the mortification that Malfoy now knew the worst of him, had seen him at his weakest and had come to his rescue. And most disturbing of all, he had no idea what part of all of that was the worst. The more he thought about it, the more the thoughts in his mind raced against each other into a muddled mess of contradiction. Yawning, he walked back to his own room, leaving Draco behind.

Harry had been in bed for a few minutes, his mind still chaotic as if to rebel against his desire to sleep. He tried to calm himself down, but the dinner kept playing in his head. He kept thinking of the aghast look on Petunia's face as her taste was criticized, of the apoplectic fit Vernon had thrown when his authority was called into question, and most of all, of the warm hand that had soothed him, making him feel safe as it eased some of the trouble out of him.

The sound of his door opening interrupted his thoughts. "Not tonight, Malfoy," Harry protested as he heard the other man approach his bed. His back was to the door, but he refused to turn around.

"Of course not, you idiot," Draco replied as lifted the covers and slid underneath them. "I may be an asshole, but I'm not tactless."

Harry was just about to dispute that claim when he felt Draco's arm slide around his body, wrapping him in a soft embrace. The scent of Draco around him seemed to alleviate the turmoil inside, and Harry found himself relaxing just as he had when Draco's hand had found his underneath the table. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so completely vulnerable to another person, and yet somehow, Malfoy was making him feel safe.

This was the first time they had ever simply slept together. The warmth of the body next to him offered a restful escape from the unease the day had brought. And yet, it was more than that. It wasn't just the presence of a body holding him. The smooth skin of Draco's arms, the smell of his shampoo, the feeling of their bodies meeting as their breathing approached a deep, relaxed pattern—it was as if he and Draco had found themselves in their own world made entirely of the security and peace he found in the other man's arms. And as any misgivings he had about turning to Draco for comfort faded away, Harry felt for the first time in his life that he had found a home.

"Malfoy," he whispered.

"Mmhmm?" came the sleepy reply.

"Thanks."


	12. Chapter 12

A crowd of people adorned in various adaptations of formal clothing filled the rows of chairs, chattering too excitedly to notice the elegantly simple melody that a quartet was playing in the background. Small arrangements of pale purple and blue flowers were scattered through the room encased in careful designs of ribbons and lace. At the front stood the groom, beaming anxiously as he glanced periodically towards the back. A parade of bridesmaids in soft dresses of a light blue and groomsmen with matching ties stepped lightly down the aisle, cuing the guests to be silent. Behind them marched a confused little boy carrying a small square pillow, accompanied by a girl who seemed more intent on looking curiously into the faces of the cooing adults than her assigned task of dropping petals. The two children managed to stumble their way to the front, occasionally veering off course due their refusal to look down at their charted path.

As Draco's eyes wandered over the guests, a sense of relief that this wasn't his wedding washed over him. Slowly developing peace aside, he still wasn't ready to stand in front of an audience and publicly declare that he was stuck with Potter until death parted them. No, Draco decided as he watched a beautiful blonde woman swathed in white chiffon smile with glowing adoration as she seemed to float regally towards the red-haired man in front, he still needed a month or two to memorize his lines.

Draco had found himself at the wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour through what was now being attributed to some vague sense of wedding kismet. One of the guests had a surprise break-up, resulting in both an empty seat and a panicked Mrs. Weasley. It was Ginny who had the memory and common sense to come up with a solution to fill a seat that had already been paid for. Harry wasn't originally planning to have a date for the wedding, but when Mrs. Weasley was reminded of his newly engaged status, Draco found himself on a road trip with Harry and Hermione as they trekked the two hours out to the wedding. Harry had spent a good amount of time making fun of Draco for his recent pattern of heroic behavior. Draco in turn reminded Harry that at least he had the good sense to choose honorable quests that resulted in free food and alcohol.

He hadn't realized that Hermione was going to be attending wedding. However, it seemed that she had a sordid past life that Draco had never been made aware of that involved dating a certain famous Bulgarian soccer player who had gone to the same college as her. In the face of Draco's incessant curiosity, she had insisted that the relationship had been, "More physical than emotional," not anticipating that this assessment would only increase the ferocity of Draco's taunts. Viktor Krum was a good friend of Fleur's and, having no idea who to take, he had asked Hermione to accompany him. Harry didn't dare mention it in front of Hermione, but he had confided to Draco that her enthusiasm for the wedding had increased noticeably since she had met Ron.

Draco had been to his share of weddings before; it was one of the side effects of growing up in a well-connected family. But as he obsessively picked out details ranging from the number of flowers in each arrangement to the coloring of the trim on the bridesmaids dresses, Draco had to admit that weddings looked a lot different now that he was in the middle of planning his own. He couldn't help but appreciate the minutiae now that he had witnessed firsthand the disproportionate amount of stress they caused for all those involved.

There was one detail that no amount of planning could prepare him for. Fleur and Bill seemed to have eyes only for each other, almost oblivious to the crowd that had assembled for them. As he watched them, Draco couldn't help but wonder: would it be obvious to everyone who came to watch Draco and Harry get married that they weren't in love? If they weren't reduced to the same blubbering mess that was now taking place up at the altar, would everyone know that the two of them had once sworn to kill each other during a history class debate? He knew that it shouldn't really matter to him. After all, he had spent a significant part of his life well aware of the fact that he would probably get married to someone he wasn't in love with. Why should it bother him now that he and Potter would probably be at best mildly affectionate fuck buddies for the rest of their lives?

A wave of thoughts he didn't want to confront flooded his head, trying to force him to consider possibilities that he didn't want to think probable. The sound of the officiator's voice did little to drown out his inner conflict. It was only when Draco closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths that he managed to calm himself down.

"You okay?" Harry whispered in his ear, his hand lightly covering Draco's. Both the sound and feeling of that voice was oddly soothing, and Draco felt his body start to relax.

"I'm fine," Draco replied, his voice slightly strained with the shock of being called out of his own thoughts. "Just something in my contacts."

Harry looked at him strangely. "You don't wear contacts."

"No wonder my eyes are bothering me then," Draco answered matter-of-factly, well aware of the absurdity of his words. Harry gave him a confused look before laughing quietly and returning to watch the proceedings.

Draco was glad that he didn't have to ask Harry to keep his hand on his own.

 

*****

 

The ceremony was short and sweet, which was probably fortunate for Ron. Harry was sure that it would only take a few more minutes before everyone else noticed that one of the groomsmen was sending death glares aimed at Viktor Krum. It was unlikely that Krum had noticed given his increasingly desperate attempts to get Hermione's attention. Harry hadn't really followed Hermione and Krum's spotty dating history, but he knew that she had told Krum that attending the wedding as dates did not constitute dating. Of course, Ron didn't know that, even with his passive aggressive attempts at getting more information out of Harry.

Nor, it seemed, had Krum really processed Hermione's instruction. As the two pairs walked into the reception hall, Krum was excitedly rattling off his schedule for the upcoming year, trying to work in suggestions as to times that he might be able to drop in and say a quick hello (and perhaps more). Hermione kept looking back at Harry and Draco with an anxious plea for help written across her face, but to no avail. The two of them were too busy laughing at her predicament to provide any help.

"Oooooh! Haarryyy! Eeet is zo good to see you!" Fleur grabbed Harry into a warm hug as soon as she saw him at the reception. Standing next to her was Bill, who looked like so thrilled that it seemed like he would never stop grinning.

"Hey, Harry," he said, sticking his hand out proudly. "Glad you could make it."

Harry offered his congratulations before turning to introduce Draco. "Fleur, Bill," he started, "this is my fiancé, Draco Malfoy."

Fleur instantly reached out and took Draco into her arms. "I am so 'appy to meet the man who will marry our Harry!" When Draco stepped out of the hug, Harry was amused to the dazed expression on his face. Fleur had that kind of effect on people—it almost seemed to confirm Draco's carefully suppressed humanity.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a miniature version of Fleur ran towards their group, screaming, "Harrrryyyyyyy!" as she launched herself at him like a cannonball of blue satin.

Harry stumbled a bit from the impact, laughing as he patted her head. "Hi, Gabrielle. How are you?"

"I am not 'appy!" she announced indignantly, stomping her foot on the ground in emphasis. "I want to go to Egypt, but zey will not let me! And mama sayz I cannot go either!" She stuck her nose in the air, her hair starting to fall out of the pins that had held it in an intricate knot. Her face was set in an imperious display of righteous rage as she refused to look at her sister.

"Oh, but Gabrielle," Harry replied gently, kneeling down so that he was at eye level, "surely your sister and Bill want to be alone on their honeymoon."

"Zat is what everyone says, but I don't see why zey need zis 'alone time,'" she answered, her eyes narrowed with suspicion at Harry's apparent involvement with this grand conspiracy against her. "Zey will be together forever! And I won't bother zem, I promise! I've never been to Egypt!"

Harry tried to hide his smile, which was difficult as the adults around him shook with the struggle to hold back their laughter. "Hooow abooout thiiiis," he said, stretching out the words as he tried to think of a way out. "If you let Bill and Fleur go on their honeymoon alone, I will…." He paused, contemplating the possible trades that would be worthwhile to a nine-year-old girl who was missing out on a trip to Egypt. "Aha! I will let you be a bridesmaid at my wedding."

"But I was a bridesmaid todaaay," she countered, her voice rising in both volume and pitch. "I don't need to do eet again."

Draco suddenly dropped next to Harry. "How about this," he started sympathetically. "How about, to make up for the injustice of everything that has happened to you, Harry will dance the Macarena at our wedding." Harry tried to send his best, "What the fuck are you talking about?" look. In response, Draco added, "And the Electric Slide."

"What will zat do for me!"

"Someone needs to be punished for what's being done to you. I think making Harry dance in front of everyone will be suitably embarrassing for him."

Gabrielle considered him coolly. "You're ze person Harry will marry?"

Draco stared back calmly, not intimidated by a nine-year-old on the verge of a temper tantrum. "Yes." He stuck his hand out. "My name is Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Oh." She gave him one last look-over and then smiled broadly, shaking his hand vigorously. "Okay!" Then grinning brilliantly at Harry, she announced, "Remember, 'Arry! We will all get to see you dance."

A group of kids wandered into the assembled crowd, dragging the newly appeased Gabrielle off for a game of hide and seek. Harry and Draco slowly lifted themselves off the ground. Harry still wasn't quite sure what had happened, but apparently, he was going to have to dance at his wedding. Leave it to Draco to quell a difficult situation by promising future humiliation for Harry.

"You will have to excuse Gabrielle," Fleur said, still too full of good cheer to truly be embarrassed by her sister's demands. "She still does not have very good manners."

"Harry's usually the only one who can placate her," Bill explained. "Two summers ago, he pulled her out of a lake. She would've drowned."

"Of course he did," Draco answered, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head seriously at Harry. Harry wished that there were an opportunity to smack that knowing look off his face without any witnesses. A new wave of guests came through to congratulate the newly married couple, leaving Harry and Draco to find their seats. As they walked towards their table, Draco turned and whispered, "Saving kids from drowning? That's like a whole new level of heroic."

"Oh, shut up," Harry shot back. "You would've done the same thing."

"I guess." Draco pulled out his chair and sat down. "But you have to admit that you seem to have a particularly knack for finding these situations. Now," he said, placing his hands on the table in a decisive gesture, "when are we going to practice your Macarena?"

 

*****

 

Most of the tables had been vacated to occupy the dance floor. Single twenty and thirty-somethings were eyeing each other as teenagers flirted awkwardly in the corner. Mrs. Weasley's face was flush with wine as she flitted from the table to table, her giddy excitement unable to hinder her propensity for hospitality. Harry and Draco were still seated with Hermione. Viktor had sent himself on a search for refreshments while Ron and Ginny had left their seats at the head table to join them.

"So, Harry," Ginny started saying as she reached over to an abandoned plate and grabbed a forgotten piece of cake. "When is it your turn?"

"For what?" Harry was scraping at the last bits of frosting left on his plate, so intent on obtaining every last bit that he didn't look up when the question was asked.

"The wedding, you idiot," Draco answered for Ginny. "And we're still not sure yet," he said, smiling in her direction. "We're trying to outsource as much of the work as possible to my mom. She loves this sort of thing. I just show up to make sure she doesn't take Potter's input too seriously."

"She's narrowed it down to a few dates though," Harry added, rolling his eyes at Draco's lazy barb. "The closest date is four months away."

"Aw, how traditional," George began, sweeping into the conversation with his twin.

"It's just like a shotgun wedding," Fred finished for him.

Both Draco and Harry recoiled in disgust. "I'm not pregnant!" Draco sneered, crossing his arms defensively over his stomach.

"Oh, no, of course not," George assured him. "Harry's a proper gentleman. He'll wait for the honeymoon to knock you up."

"Can we move on, please?" Harry could feel his face heating up, and his nose was scrunched up as if there was something exceedingly repulsive beneath it. Usually, Draco would delight in seeing him like this. But when Harry looked over, Draco looked as grossed out as he felt. "There will be no knocking up of anyone. I don't even want to think about how that would work."

"The pregnancy? Or the sex?" Ginny asked, her face a perfect mask of innocence. "Because if it's the sex, I know of some inspirational places on the internet. Same with the male pregnancy, actually, but that involves some major suspension of disbelief."

"That's okay, Ginny," Harry answered, his voice still quesy.

"Don't worry about the sex either, Ginny," Draco interjected, his face suddenly taking on a cheerfully menacing appearance. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, he said, "Apparently, Potter quite enjoys having sex with me. Something about it being 'the best he's ever had' or something." His voice trailed off at the end, as if his statement was really of very little interest.

Harry slammed his fork down. "Hermione!" he exclaimed in disbelief. "You told him?"

Hermione bit her lip nervously, her guilt evident in her frantic attempt to look at anything but him. "Sorry…I didn't mean to…."

"What Hermione is trying to say," Draco smoothly offered, "is that it's not her fault that she got very drunk at one of our department's gatherings and then spilled all of your secrets."

"And I'm sure you had nothing to do with her drunkenness at all," Harry accused, sending Draco a sharp look.

Draco shrugged his shoulders benignly. "When a good friend asks me to get her a beer or six, I can hardly refuse her."

"Get me a beer or six then," Harry muttered loudly back. "That'll make it okay when I tell Ron how long Hermione spent getting agonizing over what he would think of her dress tonight, right?"

Ron had been engaged in a game of paper football with his brothers, but at the sound of his name, his attention returned to the conversation at hand. "Tell me what?"

At that moment, Krum came back to the table, placing a glass in front of Hermione. "Vhat have I missed?" he asked, happily oblivious to the tense atmosphere that had taken over half of the table.

"Nothing," Hermione answered harshly, directing a furious glare at Harry that he was too angry to take seriously.

"Tell me what?" Ron asked again, looking this time to his sister, who only shook her head at his cluelessness.

"Nothing!" Hermione told him, her voice rising uncomfortably.

Harry turned to Draco and said quietly, "Did you really have to bring it up here?"

"Of course," Draco retorted. "How else was I going to get you to confirm it?"

"If you're worried about me," interjected Ginny, "you really shouldn't. I know I should be jealous or something, but for some reason, I'm more intrigued than anything. I mean, this is the guy who almost got you suspended by getting you to make a stink bomb."

Draco was wiping his hands casually with his napkin. "Everyone always brings up the stink bomb," he observed breezily. "But that wasn't even that great. Snape managed to keep him from finishing it."

"I think it's the part where you almost got him suspended that gives the story its longevity," Hermione pointed out, her voice still on edge.

"True. I still don't think it's my best work."

"That's because it didn't end up with a nurse giving me brochures with graphic pictures of syphilis," Harry said, a mildly traumatized look appearing on his face as he recalled the images. "I still can't believe you tried to tell people I had it." Fred and George were both staring at Draco with a burgeoning look of admiration on their faces.

Draco shook his head. "That wasn't that great either. The nurse was the only one who took that rumor seriously." He looked at Harry as if the sight of his former target would help him recall the long list of attempted pranks. "You know, I like to think the one with the mops was my crowning achievement."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, looking down at his plate and then back up again as he considered just which incident Draco was referring to. "Didn't I…almost break your nose for that?"

"Of course." Draco grinned. "That's how I know it was so successful."

"What did you do with the mops?" Fred asked eagerly, reaching into one of his pockets for a pen.

"Out of deference to my fiancé," Draco replied teasingly, "it's probably better if I don't say."

"No! No deference to Harry!" George cut in. "You should tell us!"

"Yeah, I don't think Harry's ever told me this one," Ron said, his curiosity piqued.

Draco relaxed in his chair, haughtily watching most of the table lean forward in anticipation. Only the forbidding look on Harry's face kept him from spilling. "Potter will probably seriously hurt me if I say anything,"

"You told everyone what I told you," Hermione insisted loudly. "This can't be much worse."

"No, he's right," Harry cut in, his voice steely with a rarely heard threatening quality. "I will actually kill him if he tells you."

Krum had been watching the two of them, looking increasingly puzzled as the exchange continued. "Vait," he began gruffly. "You two vill get married…to each other?" He was waving his finger between the two of them.

"Yes, Viktor," Hermione said in a hushed tone. "I explained this to you already."

"But they are so mean to each other," Viktor replied loudly, throwing his arms in front of him to emphasize his confusion. "There is no sense in it."

"Weirdly enough," Ron mumbled, "I'm starting to think there is."

The DJ enthusiastically issued a call for couples, demanding their presence at the center of the dance floor. Fred grinned at Harry and Draco. "You two!" he demanded gleefully. "To the dance floor!"

"Huh?" Harry looked up. He had just been starting to settle into his chair, grateful that there was no reason for him to dance in public at this wedding. The sight of everyone around the table now staring expectantly at him and Draco galvanized his thought process. "Oh," he said, looking at Draco. "No. No, no." He frantically shook his head, hoping that Draco was magically on the same wavelength.

But Draco had already stood up and was now offering his hand graciously. "Scared, Potter?"

If looks could kill, Harry would have barely been able to manage a light slap. "You know," he muttered as he accepted Draco's hand, "one of these days, I'm just going to admit that I'm fucking terrified of you."

"Well, until that glorious day," Draco said, pulling Harry towards the dance floors, "I'm just going to keep calling you a coward so that you listen to me."

The two of them reached a reasonably spacious part of the floor. A husky rhythm played in the background, prompting the couples to enter each other's arms. Draco and Harry both extended their left arm to lead, and they stared awkwardly at each other as they realized their newfound conundrum.

Finally, Harry raised his left arm and wrapped it around Draco's shoulder. "Fuck it," he said, letting Draco slide his right arm around his waist. "You're just going to call me chicken until I give in anyway." He felt the shudder of breath in his ear as Draco gently chuckled. Harry couldn't help but smile at the sound of Draco's laughter—it was an involuntary response he had been developing recently in the face of the Draco's surprisingly pleasurable company.

The two of them swayed together, Draco directing the movement of their bodies. His hand grazed down Harry's back, pushing them closer together. Despite their proclivity towards using public settings as a backdrop for their dalliances, Harry couldn't help but feel that this was the most intimate display they had put on. He felt oddly self-conscious, as if the act of their fully-clothed bodies pressed against each other engaged in something other than physical violence was a sight not quite fit for a general audience.

"See?" Draco whispered after a short period of silence. "It's not really so bad, is it? To let someone else take the lead for a change?"

"I don't know if I want to answer that," Harry replied, his eyes trained on the smooth skin that overlapped the muscles in Draco's neck.

"You mean that you don't want to admit that you like it?" Draco's voice was silky with a seductive quality Harry had yet to build a resistance to, hinting at a million scenarios that had nothing to do with dancing and that he had only dared imagine in the last few minutes before the darkness of sleep overcame him at night.

"Now I'm not sure what we're talking about."

"If you think we're on a different topic, it's probably because you want to be." Harry swallowed nervously and stared around the room, trying to watch the couples around him as a form of distraction but finding that they blurred together as his mind was overcome with the feeling of Draco's body against his. After a few seconds of silence, Draco's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You still haven't answered my question."

"What do you want me to say, Malfoy?"Harry said uneasily. "No, it's not so bad? I'm glad you haven't led me off the dance floor and to my death?"

"I think you know what I want you to say." That captivating quality was still in Draco's voice. Harry tried to calm the pounding in his chest, afraid that his body was betraying him when placed in such close proximity to the source of his agitation.

Quietly, he admitted, "I'd let you top. It's not exactly a big deal."

Malfoy snorted. "You have such a way with words. Besides,that's not enough, Potter." He pressed Harry in further until all he could think about was the way Draco's hair smelled and how close that naked swatch of skin was and just how nice it would be to claim it now, audience be damned.

His throat had gone almost completely dry, making it very difficult to speak. "Then what do you want?"

"I want you to admit that you want it," came the firm reply. Harry missed a step as his legs tensed up. He refused to answer though, not trusting his own voice. "Really, Potter?" Draco whispered. "You don't want to admit that you've been thinking about it?"

"Right. A few weeks with me, and you've got me all figured out," Harry petulantly responded.

"Oh, Potter," his partner replied, his voice low and treacherous, "I don't think you me to tell just how much I've figured out. Not with all these people around."

"I didn't know you were so bashful."

"I'm not."

"Look at you," Harry snorted, "taking my feelings into account."

"Ugh, you're right." Harry couldn't see Draco, but he could still feel the smirk against the side of his neck. "Let's get right to it then."

"No, Malfoy, there are—"

"People. I know." The song had switched to something new, but Harry barely noticed as Draco closed whatever miniscule distance was left between their bodies. "I also know that if I kiss you right here," Draco said as he light pressed his lips to Harry's neck, "that you'll do that," referring to Harry's attempt to suppress a moan by biting his lip and swallowing nervously. "But if I go just an inch up," he continued, trailing his lips upwards until he drew a low moan out of Harry, "then it's too much for you to keep to yourself. And no matter how much you whine about it after, we both know that you like it when I dig my nails so deep into your back that it leaves a mark. You were also pissed when I sent you those texts—"

"They were pretty graphic, Malfoy," Harry managed to throw in, his voice shaky and not all capable of evincing the anger he wanted to get across. "And you knew I was in a meeting."

"—but that didn't stop you from enthusiastically following through on some of the suggestions I listed when you got home," Draco said as if he hadn't been interrupted. "I know that as much as you enjoy the naked side of sex, you're even more turned on when our clothes don't completely make it off. And most importantly," he stated in a voice that made Harry very glad he could hold onto Draco for support, "despite your long-standing control issues that have brought satisfaction to us both, you have been considering the possibility that letting me take full control for even one night might be exciting."

Harry tried pulling back, but Malfoy's grip was surprisingly tight around him. He could feel Draco's thighs warm against his own, this hips continuing the pace that the other man had decided upon on. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?" Draco replied, his tone a mockery of skepticism. "You mean that you haven't thought about what it would be like to completely submit to me?"

"Whatever death wish you think I might have," Harry said, trying to harden his voice to mask his denial, "I am not that suicidal."

"It wouldn't kill you."

"No, but you might."

"No, sweetie," Draco said sardonically, "I still need to marry you before I can kill you for your money."

"Comforting words," Harry replied, matching Draco for sarcasm.

"Plus, taking all your assets in the divorce will be so much less messy."

Harry smiled, grateful for the return to what was now becoming standard flirtatious combative banter. "Of course."

"See," Draco said, his voice returning to a frighteningly seductive tone. "This is the most important thing I've learned about you, Potter. You like this."

"Like what?" Harry asked. "Are we talking about sex again? Because telling me that I like sex isn't exactly an astute observation."

"No, you like this. Us. Whatever we're doing." Several moments of silence passed, during which Harry suddenly became aware of the chatter of everyone else around them. "Look around this room," Draco finally said. "Everyone who knows you thinks you're the golden boy. You save little kids from drowning. You keep your employees honest. You're perfect."

"Need I remind you that you're the one who accuses me of having a hero complex whenever any mention of me doing something good comes up?"

"Sure, but I'm the only one who doesn't worship you for it," Draco pointed out. "And deep down inside, you like that. So really, Potter, your problem isn't that you don't trust me. It's that you don't trust anyone else to take charge. But no one except for me gives you shit for it because I'm the only one who doesn't exalt the ground you stand on."

"What's your point, Malfoy?" Harry asked testily.

"When's the last time you surrendered unconditionally to someone?"

The question, coming so calmly from Malfoy's mouth, hit Harry somewhere in the lower abdomen, traveling down until his pants felt uncomfortably tight as images of what it would be like to submit completely to Draco played in his mind. Swallowing, he tried to regain composure. "When's the last time you did?"

"Not that I haven't noticed your weak at misdirection, but I've gotten closer with you than anyone else."

Harry was taken aback by the honest response. "Why?"

"Because you know how to make it worth the risk."

A silence came over the dance floor as the DJ made an awkward transition between tracks. Harry stepped away from Draco, trying to scrutinize his face for any hints of a lie. Draco's response had been so matter-of-fact, so personal, it could hardly be true. But Harry could find no sign of dishonesty. Sure, Malfoy was a consummate liar, but what did he have to gain from such an admission?

"Oi, Harry." The familiar sound of Ginny's impatient voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Oh, Ginny, sorry…."

"Yeah, uh huh." She looked him over, her head cocked to the side as she looked dubiously at his dazed expression. "I was just asking if it would be all right for me to cut in. Take your fiancé out for a spin."

Harry looked at Draco, who gave no indication of the conversation he had just whispered into Harry's ear. "Oh, sure, of course." He moved aside, allowing Ginny to step in for him. "I was just going to go out and get some air anyway."

"Enjoy your air, Potter," Draco said deviously before taking Ginny's outstretched hand in his own. Harry watched the two of them, the room suddenly feeling very stuffy as the entirety of the conversation he had just had replayed in his head in the course of one second. Almost crashing into a circle of dancing guests, he dashed outside, the cool air of the evening helping to ease the heat in his own body. And yet despite his frantic attempts to relax, he could still feel the pressure of Draco's body against his own, the lingering touch of his lips, and most unforgettable of all, the lasting effects of his words.

 

*****

 

Harry had been outside for a while, sitting on a wide railing while reading some e-mails on his phone when he heard the sound of Draco's voice coming towards him. "Of course, the brief break from the party to do work."

"I know, I know," Harry laughed, turning his phone and putting it in his pocket. "I'm a walking stereotype."

The moon was casting a pale light on Draco as he walked towards the railing, making the normally beautiful man seem even more so to Harry. Draco placed his hands around him, trapping Harry onto the railing as he raised himself to place a light kiss on Harry's lips. "Anything exciting?"

Harry lowered his head to deepen the touch of their lips. "We're in the middle of reworking a contract with the DE Company," he said when they broke apart.

"Didn't my dad work that out ages ago?"

"The contract's up for renewal. And Nott Sr. passed away. His son has taken over, so things are less guaranteed than they would have been."

"You mean Theodore Nott? He's CEO now?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "You know him?"

"You could say that," Draco answered, his eyes looking somewhat distant as he pulled back slightly from Harry. "I guess you could call him your predecessor."

"What do you mean?"

"He was the number one draft pick for my future spouse for a long time."

Harry mulled over the consequences of a marriage between Draco and Theodore. "That seems…terrifying."

"Terrifying?" Draco smirked as he reached out and straightened Harry's tie. "Careful, Potter. I'm going to start thinking you have a crush on me."

Harry blushed as Draco stared directly into his eyes. "No, I mean, wouldn't that result in—"

"The most disgustingly powerful union of two companies?" Draco completed for him. "Yeah. I guess you could call that terrifying."

Harry thought back on everything Draco had told him about the terms of their arranged marriage. "But I thought that you only had to get married to your parents' choice because you decided to not take over the company."

Draco scoffed. "I'm a Malfoy. My marriage was always going to be strategic. Why else do you think I took the deal so easily?" If he was sad about this fact, he hardly looked it.

"What happened?" Harry asked after looking Draco up and down. "Why hasn't the most disgustingly powerful union of two companies happened?"

"When I decided that I didn't want to take over the company, my parent's priorities kind of shifted," he explained. "It's one thing to have a merger, but they'd never hand the company completely over to the Notts."

Harry smiled wryly. "And that's where I come in."

Draco stared at him, his gaze soft yet penetrating. "You're not so bad, I guess." Looking thoughtful, he added, "They could have chosen worse—they could have gone with Crabbe or Goyle."

"And here I thought you were on the verge of a compliment." Harry absent-mindedly ran a finger through Draco's hair before tracing it lightly down his jaw. "So how'd your dance with Ginny go?"

"It was nice," Draco replied, leaning his cheek slightly into Harry's touch. "She let me fawn over her for most of it."

"It's hard to imagine you fawning over anyone." Harry tried to picture it in his head, but the image turned into some sort of Bambi-Draco hybrid prancing around in a forest.

"Most people don't contain the hopes and dreams of their country in their right foot," Draco pointed out, interrupting Harry's imagination.

"I guess that's true. So you just spent the whole time telling her how awesome she is?"

Draco suddenly became very serious. "Towards the end, she listed a very thorough and terrifying set of actions she would undertake if I ever did anything to cause you harm." He shuddered slightly. "She has some very creative ideas of how to inflict maximal damage to my reproductive organs."

"That sounds…fun," Harry said hesitantly.

"There's nothing as impressive in an individual as the capability to devise original threats."

"You know that she'll follow through on them though, right?" Harry lifted Draco's chin, to look him in the eyes. "Ginny once kicked a guy in the balls with the hell end of her stilettos because he got too aggressive with one of her friends at a night club."

"I don't fawn over cowards who make empty threats." Draco waited a few seconds before asking, "And what about you? Have you just been sitting out here working?"

"I was watching."

"Watching what?"

"You," Harry answered, his voice low.

A faint pink brushed Draco's cheeks, barely visible in the low light. "Well, aren't you the little creeper?" he teased.

Harry stared down at his hands in embarrassment before looking up again. "I was also watching Ron and Hermione," he added.

"Oh, you watched that saga unfold too?" Draco looked back to where Ron and Hermione were currently pretending to not be staring at each other while barely paying attention to their respective dance partners. "I'm not sure Ron will ever forgive her for Krum asking her to dance first, but I guess that dancing with all of the bridesmaids has been a suitable way of getting her attention."

"I don't know. Every time I look at Hermione, she looks like she wants to choke him." In fact, Harry had been considering an intervention throughout the night. However, a mild fear of the dance floor and the knowledge that Hermione wouldn't kill Ron when there were so many witnesses around kept him outside. He had been watching the two play this game for the past few weeks now, but neither would admit to any sort of attraction. He was starting to feel like a kindergarten teacher in the middle of two little kids pulling each other's hair to disguise their mutual crushes.

"They've only known each other a short time. I'm sure this will only be a mild blip in the opus that is their great romance. It'll make for a great toast at their wedding."

Harry pondered Draco's theory, but it didn't seem to fit with what he knew of his friends. "I don't know," he replied skeptically. "Ron's not exactly the most tactful person when it comes to women."

"And you are?" Draco countered, eyebrow raised in his trademark smug look.

"No," he conceded with a shrug. "But at least I have Hermione to tell me what to do."

Draco glanced back towards the dance floor. "I'm surprised by your lack of faith. I bet those two will be hooking up by the end of the night."

Harry laughed louder than he had intended to. "No way."

"Seriously," Draco said, his voice endearingly earnest. "This is a wedding. They're two adults who are drinking and making covetous eyes at each other. If we were in high school, this would be prom and they would be drinking their jealousy away with spiked punch until they wind up in a backseat losing their virginities in a haze of teenage glory." He looked so passionately dedicated to this version of events that Harry had to hold back the urge to sweep him into a warm hug. "This is the stuff 'Cutest Couples' superlatives are made of in yearbooks," Draco added. "I'm willing to bet on everything I hold sacred that they will be boning by the end of the night."

Harry considered Draco's bold pronouncement, trying to figure out why something sounded off about it. Then, realizing what it was, he pointed out, "You don't actually hold anything sacred."

"Fine." Draco rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed with Harry's insistence on picking on the finer details of his statement. "I'd still be willing to wager it on something."

At first, Harry was going to make fun of his dedication to this idea of a bet, but the more he considered what the odds would be of losing, a plan began to form in his head. Looking at Draco, he removed all traces of laughter and asked, "Would you really place a bet on it?"

Draco turned his head slightly to the side, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I was being glib, but I'm always open to a good old-fashioned bet." Proceeding cautiously, he added, "What were you thinking?"

Harry bit his lip, somewhat certain that he must be going crazy to even think of proceeding with his offer. "If I'm right, you have to do all of the chores in the apartment for a year."

"A whole year!" Draco's face was contorted in a striking combination of shock and disgust. "Nothing I could possibly win can be worth that."

"If you're right," Harry continued, leaning forward so that he was speaking into the soft skin of Draco's cheek. "If Hermione and Ron hook up tonight—I'll give you what you want. And," he said, his voice lowering, "I'll tell you just how much I want it."

Harry smiled when he felt the muscles in Draco's face tense up, the pale jaw clicking in consternation. "Fine," Draco practically grunted. He pulled away from Harry, tracing his finger down the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead as his eyes scanned Harry's features.. "You know," he said quietly, "you're cleverer than I give you credit for."

Harry put on the airy look of someone who had no idea what Draco was talking about. "I did something clever?" he asked, his eyebrows raised in an impression of ditsy surprise.

"Don't play coy with me, Potter," Draco sneered. "I'm better at these games than you, even if you're having a current moment of genius."

"I'm afraid I still don't know what you're talking about."

"Most people would consider it morally reprehensible to bet on the possibility that two of your friends will hook up, but you know that I'll do anything to get them together so that I can win. So really, you could argue that you're doing this for their sake."

"I guess you could argue that," Harry replied, acting as if this was the first time the thought had occurred to him.

"And more importantly," Draco added somewhat angrily, "you know that I can't resist the terms you've set forth."

It was impossible to suppress the grin that was building on Harry's face. "No," he answered impertinently, "I suppose you can't."

"But when I win and you finally admit that you want nothing more than to completely hand yourself over to me, you're not really admitting anything, are you?" Draco observed, clearly annoyed at this realization. "You're offering it as a prize so that you can confess without having to own up to the fact that you mean it."

"It's a prize that you want to win though, isn't it?" Harry pointed out.

Draco scowled, his eyes narrowed in pointed aggravation. "I'm starting to worry that you're getting to know me too well."

"Strange." Harry maintained his shit-eating grin. "I was going to say the same thing about you." Leaning forward, he captured Draco's lips against his, speaking quietly into them. "If you win, I'll mean it," he reassured him. "I promise." He looked into the deep grey of Draco's eyes, enjoying the mixture of anticipation and lust that danced in their depths. Then, leaning back, he waved his hand in the direction of the wedding. "Now, Don't you have a couple to play cupid to?"

"Are you really sending me to do your bidding?" Draco asked contemptuously.

"I just thought you had a bet to win, that's all."

Draco's jaw tensed up again in resentment. "You know," he said as he started turning to walk back inside, "I liked you more when I was doing the manipulating."


	13. Chapter 13

Draco was hiding in the bathroom. It was part of a strategy he had discovered in high school: when in need of a quiet place to scheme, seek out the closest stall. There's usually less noise, and if anyone asks what took him so long, he could just pretend to be sick. He had done this so many times that when he was sixteen, his friends had suspected Potter of poisoning him. As if Harry could pull off anything that required subtlety.

Given the presence of several hundred guests scattered throughout the reception, a distant bathroom seemed like the best way to go. He had been pacing back and forth in a comfortably large stall for at least fifteen minutes now, pausing every so often to analyze the diamond tile pattern in the floor. He'd already had to scrap several ideas that required stashing Krum in a broom closet. Drugging someone at a wedding was cruel, and Krum was too big for him to be dragging around anyway. But Draco still had a wide array of tools at his disposal. After pacing the equivalent of a mile, he finally figured out a basic plan to get what he needed. It wasn't the most elegant arrangement he had come up with. But with so much at stake and with so little time, he wasn't going to waste time trying to construct a masterpiece.

When he returned to the reception, Draco quickly assessed the current situation. Not much had changed. Hermione was still dancing with Krum while surreptitiously glaring at Ron, who was still rotating between bridesmaids. A tousled mass of black hair appeared in the periphery, but Draco quickly turned away. It wouldn't do to get distracted at such a critical point of the night.

"You look like you're scheming." Ginny sounded slightly concerned as she edged next to Draco. "Should I be planning my evacuation route?"

"No need to fret," Draco reassured her while trying to determine the number of single bridesmaids awaiting their turn with the bumbling Mr. Weasley. "My methods are being used for good. I don't expect a high body count this time around."

Ginny snorted incredulously. "For good? What's the special occasion?"

"I'm supposed to be getting your brother together with Hermione." Draco nodded his head towards the dance floor to emphasize the complications.

Ginny looked over at Hermione and Ron. After a few seconds of contemplating them in silence, she spoke up again. "Harry is making you do this, isn't he?"

"Of course," he muttered, stepping slightly to allow a rambunctious ten-year-old pass by.

"What's he promising you in return?" She smirked knowingly at him. "It must be something good. I can't imagine you playing cupid for anything mundane like chocolates or jewelry."

"I can't say."

"Can't say? Or won't say?"

"Both," he replied.

"It must be something really good then if you're too embarrassed to admit it."

"I'm not the one who's embarrassed." A roar of cheering came from the dance floor as a surprisingly limber grandmother began an impromptu conga line.

Ginny scanned him up and down, making him feel completely transparent. He wanted to cross his arms over his body, but it would have been a futile (and perplexing) gesture. "You're trying to fuck him, aren't you?"

Draco was almost shocked enough to start stuttering, but he quickly recovered. "I think we've established that there's been plenty of fucking going on between me and Potter."

"You know what I mean."

"And just how did you come to this conclusion?" he asked, figuring that Potter wouldn't have a motive to kill him if he didn't directly answer the question.

"I have in fact had sex with Harry before," she reminded him. "It's not like I don't know what you're up against."

"I'm don't think I want to know what that entails in your situation."

She let out a long exhale. "An island of misfit sex toys that ended up collecting dust underneath my bed."

"I suppose it's a good thing you were introduced to Pansy." Draco winked at Ginny. "She would never let a toy go to waste."

She raised an eyebrow coyly. "I don't kiss and tell."

"Fortunately for me, Pansy does."

Ginny just laughed and shook her head. She had taken out the updo required for the wedding, probably—Draco guessed—as soon as she had escaped her mother's notice in the morning. "Aren't you supposed to be on a mission right now?"

Draco considered Ginny for a few seconds. It was a little unorthodox, discussing your fiancé's sexual one-mindedness with his ex-girlfriend, but Ginny Weasley didn't seem like a particularly orthodox woman. Before he knew what he was saying, Draco turned to her and asked,"Do you want to help me?" He hadn't planned on having a partner, but as he considered the various time constraints of his original idea, turning to outside aid began to hold a certain appeal. And there was no one who would understand the urgency of the situation quite like Ginny.

"Excuse me?" she shot back, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"It's for your benefit too, you know," he quickly added, scrambling to come up with some more tangible motivation for Ginny to help him. "If your brother finally gets together with Hermione, he might lay off your back for a while."

"Yeah, but then I'll have to put up with another marriage in the family." Looking over at her mother, bustling around to make sure all the guests were attended to, Ginny added, "I really don't want to have to go through the ordeal of wedding photos again."

"I understand," Draco replied sympathetically, recalling a recent wedding planning meeting that had ended with Potter begging for a Vegas elopement. "But think about it. Your mom will be so busy with Ron, she'll probably forget to ask you about your romantic attachments for a while."

Ginny didn't give an answer immediately, but her face made it clear that he had struck a nerve. Draco felt a little bad for putting her in such an awkward position, but business was business. When she finally spoke again, she said, "You know, when I first started dating Harry, I thought it would be a nice, quiet relationship."

"Really?" Draco suppressed the rising urge to burst out laughing. "With Potter?"

"It's not like I knew that I'd end up trying to help his fiancé sodomize him at my brother's wedding."

"Especially," Draco interjected, "since last time we talked, you promised that if I did anything to hurt him, you would throw my balls into a blender and feed them to me."

"That threat still stands," she shot back icily.

"But you'll still help me?" he asked, about five seconds away from turning on the puppy dog eyes look he had mastered when he was three.

"Fine," she sighed. "But if anyone asks, I'm doing it for my dear brother, okay?" Draco nodded. "Well then," she continued, glancing around the room. "What's the plan?"

 

*****

 

Wedding receptions are good places to launch secret attacks. For one, everyone is so caught up in the hustle and bustle of general merriment that they don't notice when several bridesmaids go missing. This was an important feature for Draco, as the disappearance of several bridesmaids was a vital maneuver in the execution of his strategy.

For the ethically concerned, it might be important to note that no bridesmaids were hurt in the fulfillment of Draco's schemes. No, Ginny merely took advantage of the natural feminine instinct to travel to restrooms en masse, going around the room and collecting them on a field trip to the nearest sink. Draco had no idea what they were doing in there, but none of the women seemed to think it was suspicious that they had been shepherded out of the reception. Ginny had assured him that she would be able to keep them there for at least ten minutes, mentioning something about convincing them all to fix each other's make-up and exchange gossip.

When the women seemed to have left the room, Draco quickly went to work. He grabbed Hermione, mumbling something about a medical emergency to the stunned Viktor as he dragged her away. The hard chain of her bracelet dug into his palm as he took her away from the dance floor.

"What are you doing?" she whispered furiously. "You're not sick!"

Draco ignored her until they reached an isolated corner of the room. Turning, he gravely put his hands on her shoulders. "Hermione, you need to do something for me."

Hermione's expression shifted completely to one of concern. "What? Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing's wrong," he assured her. After pausing a moment, Draco continued in a very serious voice, "You need to dance with Ron."

Hermione quickly stepped out of Draco's grasp and crossed her arms. "What?" she shrieked, earning a few looks from a couple trying to make out at a secluded table. Lowering her voice, she said, "You didn't drag me away from a perfectly capable dance partner just to ask me to dance with Ron."

"Come on," he implored. "It's just a dance."

"No. And why are you even telling me to dance with him?" she asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Because you obviously want to. And because look at him." Draco lightly tapped her shoulder and pointed towards the red-haired man sitting alone at a table. "He's practically waiting for you to come along and save him from his loneliness."

"I think he's doing just fine," she sniffed. "He probably just needed to rest his ego a bit."

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" Hermione's eyes narrowed further—Draco calling a comment "harsh" could only further aggravate her suspicions. He tried to increase the sympathy in his voice as he kept trying to convince her. "He's been pining for you the whole time."

"He has a strange way of showing it," she said bitterly.

"You say that as if every woman he danced with didn't strengthen your resolve to keep dancing with Krum."

Hermione had the decency to look flustered when Draco called her out. "That…that's not what's going on," she stammered, absent-mindedly rubbing her bare wrist.

"You know I respect your intelligence, so please don't insult mine."

Hermione grit her teeth for several seconds, making Draco worried that she was going to grind them away. Finally, she pried her jaws apart. "I'm still not going to dance with Ron."

Draco sighed and reluctantly proceeded. "You know, I didn't want to have to do this…."

"Draco…?" she replied uneasily. "What are you doing?"

"You know those NMR results you've been wanting? For the compound I finally managed to synthesize last week?"

"Yes…."

Draco analyzed his nails and casually proceeded. "I can put off the experiment, you know. I can make it so that you don't get those results for a very long time."

"You can't do that!" Hermione cried out, her hair almost falling into a display of disarrayed fury. "That's unethical!"

"Really, Hermione," he sighed. "When is the last time you have ever described me as ethical?"

"But you've never violated the sanctity of science before!" The couple at the table was staring at her again, temporarily distracted from their lip-lock to witness her outrage.

"Trust me, Hermione. It's not the sanctity of science I'm worried about right now. I have priorities."

Hermione had a tendency to let curiosity sidetrack her anger, a trait that Draco exploited many times before. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," he said dismissively, waving his hand impatiently. "So, now that the future of science is at stake, will you go dance with Ron?"

"You're not going to tell me why you're doing this, are you?"

"I promise you that there is nothing nefarious about my goals." Draco put a hand to his heart to emphasize his sincerity.

"No," she scowled. "You're saving all the nefariousness for your methods."

Draco shrugged. "All's fair in love and war."

Hermione rearranged her hair, patting it down in an effort to make it presentable again. "Which one is this?" she asked. "Love or war?"

"Can't it be both?"

"You're not talking about Ron and me." She stated this simply as a fact, her arched eyebrow indicating that she knew more than Draco was wanted her to.

He just smiled and glanced towards the door. Draco could hear the laughter of a small herd of bridesmaids ringing out over the music and conversation. "You should hurry up," he said, shaking his head slightly towards the coterie of women entering the room.

Hermione frowned, but she seemed to realize the seriousness of her situation. She hurried between scattered chairs and tables to get to Ron, who raised his head hopefully as she approached. Draco couldn't hear their conversation, but he kept watching in case their body language indicated a need for intervention. Finally, Hermione extended her hand, which Ron—blushing furiously—accepted. If Krum was disappointed by this turn of events, he didn't have much time to process his sadness. The gaggle of bridesmaids had just detected the unmistakable whiff of an available single man, and they were running towards him as fast as their heels could take them.

From across the room, Draco caught Ginny's eye. She grinned and flashed him a thumbs up. Willing to overlook the corniness of the gesture, Draco's reciprocated.

The sudden movement of black hair caught his attention. This time, Draco didn't have to worry about distractions. When Harry finally got close enough, he said, "Are my eyes deceiving me, or does it look like you got Ginny to help you?"

"You're the one who wears glasses. It's entirely possible that you're seeing things."

"Of course," Harry said, brushing one of the many stray hairs off his forehead. "You would never stoop so low as to get my ex-girlfriend to set up her brother just to win a wager with me."

"I just needed someone to get the bridesmaids out of Ron's hair," Draco said innocently. "That's all."

Harry smiled at him, making Draco temporarily forget that there were other people in the room. "It's cute how you pretend to not be evil."

"They're dancing, aren't they?" Draco pointed out. "I think we're settled for tonight then," he stated confidently.

"You're quick to assume that you've won." It was obvious that Harry was not convinced by sight of Hermione and Ron awkwardly pretending to not like each other as they moved around the dance floor.

But where Harry saw "non-existent flirting skills," Draco saw potential. "My plan is flawless."

"All you did is get them to dance. That's not the same thing as getting them together."

"What else do you want?" Draco asked, his voice strained with exasperation. "Some kind of momentous occasion full of dramatic tension that can only be resolved with them kissing? Should I put their lives in danger so that they're forced to admit their feelings to each other?"

"I'm just saying, you have no idea if this is going to lead to anything."

"I have ways of finding out."

"I'm scared to ask."

Draco grinned at Harry. "Then don't."

 

*****

 

Draco's plan was so simple that Harry couldn't believe he hadn't expected it. When they got back from the reception, Draco didn't lead them towards their room. Instead, he left the elevator a floor early, yanking Harry by the sleeve so that they were awkwardly stumbling down a hallway that was identical to their own. Harry was just about to alert him to the fact that they were on the wrong floor when Draco stopped in front of a door and loudly knocked on it.

"What are you doing?" Harry hissed. "You're going to wake people up!"

"Trust me," Draco whispered back. "here isn't much sleeping going on right now."

Harry looked at the room number and finally remembered that he had been there earlier in the day. "Is that…Hermione's room?"

"Yes," came the placid reply.

"You can't…if they're, you know…."

Draco pressed his ear against the door and knocked again, ignoring Harry's stammered protest. Apparently, he heard something because he pulled away from the door and put on an angelic expression. The door opened slightly, revealing only Hermione's flushed face. Harry flattened his back against the wall, terrified to be seen with Draco given the terrifying look that Hermione was shooting him.

"Draco! What the fuck!"

Draco calmly reached into his pocket and brought out a thin silver chain. "Sorry, Hermione. I found your bracelet on the floor, and I just had to return it to you."

Hermione looked between the bracelet and Draco, completely dumbfounded. Harry couldn't remember the last time she looked so confused. After almost thirty seconds of thought, her eyes widened in realization. "You!" she barked. "You stole it off my wrist, didn't you? When you were dragging me off the dance floor!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco replied, rocking back on his heels in a defiantly cool manner. "I saw it on the ground. I thought you might be worried about it, so I figured I should return it to you immediately."

If Harry didn't know Draco better, he would have believed him. But Harry knew Draco, and he had no doubt that Draco had stolen the bracelet off Hermione.

"You! You!" But Hermione could barely manage more than a stammer.

From behind her, Ron's voice clearly rang out. "Hermione? Is something wrong."

Hermione turned a bright shade of crimson. She reached out and quickly snatched the bracelet from Draco's hand. She looked over at Harry and narrowed her eyes as if to say, "We'll talk about this tomorrow." Harry could only respond with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders, already terrified of her retribution. He should have known that a miserable death was the only possible outcome of marrying Draco.

Draco was far less concerned. Turning to Harry, he calmly said, "I believe we've settled it then?"

"Um…yes," he replied, still trying to process the scene he had just witnessed. "I guess we have."

He followed Draco, still trying to understand what had happened. "How did you know they would be in her room?" he asked while they waited for the elevator.

"Ginny told me Ron was sharing a room with one of his brothers. I figured Hermione's room was a safer bet."

"And the bracelet?"

"I can't go knocking on people's doors for no reason, Potter," Draco stated as the elevator door opened. "That's just rude."

"But stealing a bracelet is okay?"

"It's not stealing it if I plan to return it."

They were still debating the morality of Draco's approach as they walked to their room. When they reached the door, Harry froze, remembering just what he had promised Draco. He looked down and fumbled in his pockets to find the key, trying to keep his mind off the images racing through his head. Draco must have understood his sudden silence because he quietly whispered, "You know, we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Harry resisted the urge to look behind him. "I want to." And even with the wave of anxiety that hit him as he entered the room, he knew it was true. He had spent most of the night trying to put off imagining what would happen when they got back to their room. But watching Draco deftly navigate the tricky waters of Hermione and Ron's interactions only reminded him of just how easily Malfoy could assert control.

He stepped into the room and turned on the lights. He heard the door close behind him. And with that, everything was just Draco and him.

"Take of your clothes."

The command cut through the air, sending a shock through Harry's veins that made his heart beat faster. Not turning to look at Draco, he slowly let his jacket slip off his arms and onto the ground.

"Tsk, Potter," scolded Draco. "Have you learned nothing from me the past few weeks?"

Harry looked back to see Draco leaning against the wall, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. There was a predatory gleam in his eye that made his smile slightly sinister. Harry didn't need to ask for clarification. Bending down, he picked up the jacket and folded it neatly across the chair.

"Much better. Now, the rest."

Harry turned to face Draco. He wasn't going to admit that he was enjoying this, not yet anyway. He tried to keep his face unreadable as he slowly loosened his tie, but it was almost impossible to maintain control of his mask when Draco told him to leave the long slip of silk on the bed. No, when he heard the words, "For later," Harry just knew that all of his fear and desire had to be obvious.

The only form of resistance to Draco's influence that Harry could come up with was to go as slowly as possible, taking his time as he undid each button. But Draco wasn't like him. Draco was patient, willing to wait like a panther stalking his prey. Where Harry would have already pushed the other man against a wall and ripped his shirt off, Draco seemed to know that he didn't have to touch Harry to be in control. No, all he had to do was watch, the flickering of his eyes dictating the heat in Harry's body.

Harry folded his shirt and laid it on top of the jacket. Draco shifted his weight slightly, the only change in his demeanor as he continued to watch. Even as Harry took off his pants and socks, Draco did nothing but nod his head in approval when the pants were properly folded and stowed. Only when Harry stripped off his boxers, standing fully naked with his arousal very obvious, only then did Draco move: a long inhale punctuated by a quick lick of his lips.

Draco walked over to the bed and picked up the tie, wrapping it around one of his palms. Nodding his head, he silently commanded Harry to get into the bed. He complied, edging towards the headboard and propping himself up with his hands. When Harry settled into a spot, Draco finally began an ascent up the bed. Harry felt the length of Draco's body, sliding up his legs and then his abdomen. Draco's lips were just barely skimming his torso, making him tense up as the light breath teased the skin.

Finally, Draco reached his lips. But his touch was still fleeting, a slight caress meant to draw out demands for more. Harry reached out to grab Draco's shirt, hoping take the damned piece of clothing off and increase the contact of their chests. But Draco quickly pulled back, ripping Harry's hand off his shirt. He pushed Harry's back onto the bed, grabbing both hands and pinning them above his head.

Leaning forward, Draco stared straight into Harry's eyes and smirked. "It's my turn, Potter. Remember?"

Before Harry could respond, Draco had grabbed the tie off his hand with his teeth, his other hand still gripping tightly onto Harry's wrists. He deftly tied Harry up with the smooth silk. "Malfoy," Harry protested as he looked up at his bound arms, trying in vain to break the knot. "I really don't think this is necessary."

"You say that now, Potter. But just you wait." And with that, Draco's lips were on his, biting and caressing as Harry responded eagerly. Draco still had his hands pinned down, preventing him from demanding the closer contact that he wanted. All he could do was raise his body to try and reach him. But Draco was always ready, moving just out of the way so that all Harry felt was the smooth silk of Draco's shirt taunting him as the buttons seemed to scape invisible points into his chest.

"Please," he pleaded hoarsely after several minutes of this provocation. "Please…."

Draco must have taken pity, finally lowering himself so that Harry could feel the outline of his body through the aggravating fabric of his clothes. It was a concession, barely even meeting Harry's real demands. But he was already so desperate that at this point, any contact with Draco would have to do.

When Draco broke the kiss to commence the lascivious path down Harry's body, Harry barely knew what to do. Under normal circumstances, he would run his hands through Draco's hair, guiding him and asking for more until his patience wore out and the desire to touch the slim body overwhelmed him. But in his current state, Harry could only watch and gasp as Draco's tongue flicked across his nipple.

He thought he knew what it felt like to have Draco run his hands and lips all over him. Now, without the ability to touch Draco, Harry could focus only on what was being done to him and that changed everything. It was becoming abundantly clear that Draco really did know everything about Harry's body. He knew just where to let his hands roam and where to let his teeth bite down. His tongue followed an instinctively wicked path that had Harry bucking his hips as he lost control.

Draco reached into his pocket to grab a small bottle of lubricant. As Harry watched him, he tried to breathe deeply to relax his body. Draco only glanced down briefly, focusing instead on Harry's expression as he eased a finger inside. Harry closed his eyes, trying to get accustomed to the foreign pressure. He kept breathing slowly, a steady rhythm that made it easier for him to loosen his lower muscles and allow Draco greater access. Again, Draco demonstrated a mastery of Harry's body that he had never anticipated. As a rule, Harry rarely liked to express discomfort. He was a grin-and-bear-it type. But Draco somehow still knew when to ease up and when to push for more.

When he added another finger, Malfoy lowered his head and traced a line up Harry's erect cock before wrapping his lips around the shaft. It was at that point that Harry knew he was lost. There was no point in trying to maintain some semblance of control he clearly didn't have. As Draco kept up his expert manipulation, Harry succumbed entirely. It felt so much better than he had imagined to finally let go, to hand himself over and allow every sense be consumed by Draco.

Draco stopped only to strip off his clothing. Harry looked up to watch the process, mesmerized by the slim athleticism of the man's bod. His hips jutted out perfectly from the top of his pants. Harry bit his lips at the sight, frustrated by how badly he wanted to reach out and touch the man above him.

"You look good like this," Malfoy said, sliding his pants down his thighs. He smiled as if admiring his handiwork, running his hand up and down his own arousal. "I should really consider doing this more often."

"Do it again," Harry shot back, "and I'll choke you with the tie."

"Why? You're so clearly enjoying this." Draco looked over him lazily, that familiar calculating look in his eye. "Turn over."

Harry did as he was told, awkwardly rotating his body until his chest was flat against the mattress. Draco's hands warm against his back, easing down until they reached his hips and jerked him upwards. He cried out at the sudden movement, his fingers grabbing the sheets in anticipation as he felt the tip of Draco's cock against him. He shut his eyes as Malfoy slowly drove his hips forward, groaning first with the pain that gradually morphed into a new sensation altogether.

At first, it was all too new for him to enjoy. He was breathing hard into a pillow, biting into the fabric as his body tried to process this new feeling inside of him. But as the original ache subsided, Harry realized that he had started unconsciously rolling his hips back. He lifted himself onto his elbows, trying to get more leverage so that he could increase the pace.

Draco's chest was pressing into Harry's back as his groans warmed the side of Harry's cheek. He raised one of his hands to turn Harry's face towards him, catching his lips in a harsh kiss as the two desperately clung to each other with anything they could use. Draco's hand moved further down, grabbing Harry's hips to dictate the way their bodies collided against each other. When he felt Draco's hand around his erection, Harry collapsed back down into the mattress. Their moans filled the room, and he was sure that everyone in their hallway could hear them. But as Draco's nails dug into his ass, the other hand still occupied with Harry's hard dick, Harry completely forgot any desire for propriety.

Harry looked back to admire Draco. He could scarcely believe that their engagement had reduced him to this, rendering him so helpless to the man he had sworn never to succumb to. Draco wasn't some unfortunate incident in his life anymore. He was under Harry's skin, an invasive force that had become intoxicatingly vital. And now, as he folded under the pleasure of Draco's commands, Harry was sure that he would never be able to get the man out of his system.

"I want to hear you say my name." Malfoy's voice was hoarse, but it was clear that this was not a suggestion.

Harry lifted his head, trying to find a way to speak while his mind was so focused on the incredible feeling of Draco thrusting inside of him. "Ma—Malfoy!"

"No, Harry," Draco said as he yanked Harry's head back by the hair. The words were almost menacing, and Harry felt a sudden sense of loss when Draco suddenly stopped grinding against him. "I want you to say it properly."

"Draco!" Harry cried out. "Draco! Please!"

"Draco, please…what?"

Under normal circumstances, Harry would have done anything to try and erase the triumphant tone in Draco's voice. But this was not a normal circumstance. "Draco, please," he begged, breathing hard. "Don't stop."

Draco must have been equally desperate. For him, normal circumstances would mandate that he prolong Harry's torture. Instead, he willingly fulfilled Harry's wishes. The tempo was rapid, and it became rougher as they both strove to get closer to each other and the climax they craved. It left them a hot sticky mess as they finally collapsed into the bed, their chests heaving as they inhaled deeply.

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Will you please untie me now?"

Draco looked at the knot around Harry's wrists. "No."

Harry swung the wrists around to punch Draco in the shoulder. He kept prodding the muscle with his index fingers until Draco finally gave in, pouting as slid the tie off Harry.

When he felt like his legs were functional again, Harry got out of the bed to get a towel. By the time he had finished cleaning the bed, Draco was half-asleep. As Harry took off his glasses and turned off the light, a mumbled, "See, that wasn't so bad, now was it?" came from Draco's side of the bed. "You're alive."

Harry laughed. "You know, sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if we got along in high school." He pulled the covers over him and wrapped an arm across Draco's chest.

Draco ran one of his hands through Harry's hair, wrapping segments into curls around his finger. "Friendship would have taken all the fun out of this."

"This?"

"Hate sex," he said, lightly kissing Harry on the forehead.

"Ah, yes. Of course." Harry smiled into Draco's chest, feeling the rhythm of the other man's breathing and heartbeat. "Hate sex."

Draco's hand dropped to lightly stroke Harry's cheek. "You know, I don't think I really hate you anymore."

"Shhh, Draco," Harry said sleepily. "You're going to ruin all the fun." But he let Draco's words sink in, feeling the way they seemed to warm him and make him smile. "For what it's worth," he said. "I don't think I hate you anymore either."

"Harry," Draco said after a minute. "Are we having some kind of moment?"

"Yes, Draco," he confirmed. "I think we are. And we should both probably shut up and go to sleep before one of us ruins it."


	14. Chapter 14

When couples first enter a relationship, they rarely expect the initial honeymoon stage to end. The thrill of getting to know someone (whether in or out of the bed) usually lulls people into the mistaken belief that flirtatious texts and giggly lunch dates will sustain the relationship. Harry and Draco also believed that the honeymoon stage would never end, but that's because neither of them believed there was a honeymoon stage in their relationship to begin with. Sure, in the privacy of their own bed, they might exchange romantic platitudes like, "I don't think I hate you anymore." But when people asked them why they were smiling so much more than usual, neither of them thought to attribute it to their newfound companionship.

Of course, even sworn enemies can find themselves in the romantic equivalent of the Pax Romana without knowing it.

And now, like so many couples before them, Harry and Draco found themselves getting annoyed by the strangest little imperfections in each other. This was a unique situation for them in that it should not have been so unique. After so many years of committed enmity, they had each compiled long lists of the other's worst attributes. Draco had both a novel and a sequel written in his head that detailed the number of ways Harry might contribute to the end of the world. And Harry had delivered many rousing speeches over the years to his friends that illustrated Draco's many evils in frustratingly elaborate detail. Yet here they were—in the middle of forgiving old transgressions, only to find that there were so many more mundane things to be aggravated by.

For example, shortly after Bill and Fleur's wedding, Harry learned that Draco's favorite song to sing in the shower was "Toxic" by the illustrious Britney Spears. And while Harry couldn't tell a treble clef from a crying panda, he thought that he knew enough about music to decide that Britney Spears had never intended for her song to be sung in a shrill falsetto over the sound of pounding water and rising steam.

For his part, Harry had a habit of hoarding dishes. Not just a few plates here or there, but stacks of bowls and plates and utensils that were littered around his desk with the remnants of various snacks and dinners layered upon them. Draco didn't know about this habit until he went to pour out some cereal in the morning and discovered that there were no bowls left in the cupboard. A cursory inspection of Harry's room quickly lead to the discovery that his fiancé had stashed seven glasses, five bowls, three plates, two mugs, and at least eleven different pieces of silverware.

The two attempted to remain diplomatic about these discoveries. Harry had taken to putting in earplugs when he heard Draco heading for the shower. Draco had started wandering into Harry's room and taking the dishes to the sink. Of course, these are just the strategies that have been implemented by roommates throughout the ages. But most roommates aren't trying to maintain the peace while also trying to overcome years of hatred and plan their wedding to each other.

Currently, the two were spending a fine Sunday morning seated around the small circular table in their kitchen as they finalized their guest list. It felt like homework to Harry, an obstacle that prevented him from enjoying the nice weather. He tried to get through it quickly, just checking to make sure all of his friends were on the list. He had debated inviting the Dursleys—they were family after all—but he quickly dismissed the notion in favor of a wedding party that didn't make him want to punch a wall.

Draco was studying the list far more fastidiously than Harry, working to ensure that it met whatever inane standards only a Malfoy could set forth. He had spent ten minutes on the first page alone, reading through every letter to verify the spelling of each person's name. Harry tried to remain quiet, knowing that Draco would take any distraction as an excuse to prolong the exercise. But every time he flipped a page, Harry couldn't help but sigh in relief, eager to be done with this stage of planning. And with the last page finally in sight, he was ready to leap out of his chair and move on with his day. But then he noticed Draco's pursed lips and narrowed eyes. Pen in hand, he was tapping a very specific area of the paper as if he hoped to poke a hole through whatever had him so miffed. Settling back into his seat, Harry waited for Draco to announce what was bothering him.

"I think you made a mistake," Draco finally said. His eyebrows were still furrowed, and though the rhythm of the tapping eased off, he didn't stop staring at the offending name.

"Oh?" Harry asked, not bothering to feign surprise.

"Yeah. You invited Oliver Wood."

"That's not a mistake. We agreed that we wanted him there. Remember?" He laughed, thankful that the supposed error wasn't really one after all. Maybe they would be done soon after all.

"We agreed that we wanted him there," Draco replied shortly, finally looking up and setting the list on the table. "But you can't send him an invitation."

"Draco, that's how people know to show up at the wedding. You do remember how this works, right?"

"No!" Draco's voice was earnest, clearly frustrated with Harry's failure to grasp the importance of the matter. "I mean you can't invite him because that screws up my plan!"

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed before putting his arms on the table to cushion his head as he slammed it. Repeatedly. It was bit dramatic, but the gesture helped express some of his frustration. When he looked up and saw Draco's raised eyebrow, he sighed again. "What plan?" he asked, trying to remember when they had agreed to turn their wedding into a backdrop for one of Draco's machinations.

"To have Blaise ask him to the wedding," Draco answered, straightening his back to emphasize how obvious this should have been to Harry.

"Can't we just sit them at the same table?" Harry could feel his voice strain with exasperation, and he laid his head down on the desk again. The position reminded him of all the times he had fallen asleep during Snape's class.

"Of course not," Draco insisted, crossing his arms as if outraged by this display of childish annoyance. "They could sit next to each other the entire night without interacting at all."

Harry shrugged off Draco's point and proceeded with trepidation. "And how are you going to ensure that Blaise asks him?"

"You should know my methods by now."

The coy smile on Draco's face used to initiate a defensive response in Harry, but at the moment, all it did was try his patience. The long intake of breath did little to calm his nerves. "Does everything have to be a plan with you?" he asked irritably, his voice muffled as he spoke into the table.

"How else am I supposed to make sure things go the way they should?"

"Well," Harry said, resting his chin on his hands and shaking his head. "It gets a bit exhausting for the rest of us mortals who expect everyone to act like grown-ups."

"A man who has had an unrequited crush since high school is not about to act like a grown-up." Draco leaned forward, his voice rising. "He has to be treated like the emotionally immature twenty something year old that he is."

"If this is what you're like as a friend," Harry mumbled, "I'm almost glad you were my enemy."

"Whatever." Draco sank back into his chair, removing the pen cap as he prepared to cross out Wood's name. "You're not inviting Oliver."

Harry quickly reached out and grabbed the pen, sitting back up so that he could a better grasp on it. Draco shot him a steely look as he tried to wrench the pen out of the determined grasp. "Yes. I am," Harry said. The words came out laced with indignation. "Or I'll go tell your mom."

Draco let the pen go in surprise. "You would tattle? Seriously, are you ten?"

"Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing."

They continued on in this way, exchanging insults until a compromise was reached: Oliver would be invited, but Draco was allowed to threaten Blaise into asking him to dance. The main difference between these arguments and their former battles was that they took it far less seriously than before. They fought, no longer with the malice of two bitter rivals, but in the way that people bicker when the person they are emotionally invested in has the audacity to not be perfect. There was little in the way of physical threats. And for each crescendo of argument, a pause of welcome peace followed.

"You know, it's remarkable how limited our social circle is," Draco said calmly after a period of quiet, no hint of their previous conflict in his demeanor.

"Really?" Harry asked, simultaneously trying to categorize their guest list in his head. "How so?"

Draco flipped through the pages of the list and scanned through the names again. "Almost all of the friends we invited are soccer stars, students, or business associates."

"Isn't the fact that you have non-student friends considered incredible by graduate student standards?"

"It does make me surprisingly socially expansive," he agreed. "But I still feel like I could have been a bit more creative in branching out."  
Harry was tossing a pen up and down, trying to see how many times he could spin it in one toss. "Don't you know a lot of actors and actresses?" he asked. "I remember seeing you on tabloid covers and stuff when I was in college."

Draco got up from his chair and walked over to Harry. "Aw," he teased as he slid into Harry's lap, taking the pen out of his hand and placing it on the table. "Were you checking up on my love life?"

"No, I was paying for my groceries." Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, bringing the other man in closer. "Your face just happened to be in my way."

"That was all mostly casual dating anyway," Draco said placidly, resting his head on Harry's. "And the ones I liked are all having some issues with the law right now."

Harry snorted lightly into Draco's neck. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Because," Draco stated imperiously as he ran his fingers through Harry's hair, "I find people with a penchant for stealing wigs incredibly fascinating and worth my time."

Looking up into Draco's eyes, Harry smiled. "You know that I'm not stealing wigs any time soon, right?"

Draco extended a finger to Harry's chin, raising it slightly. "Hm, I think I can forgive you for this major character flaw. But," he said, grinning craftily as he lowered his lips to meet Harry's, "you'll have to earn it."

 

*****

 

A few days later, Draco was sitting in a café, lamenting the presence of so many other noises and people. He wasn't sure why he had chosen the coffee shop to study in. He needed a quiet place to go through his upcoming presentation, so of course the logical choice was a place filled with the whirring sound of coffee machines and loud gossiping. Still, his communal office was currently playing host to an impromptu gathering of students, and he had committed to walking the ten feet to the coffee shop. Sure, he could leave and go to the library, but he'd already ordered a cappuccino. Plus, the library didn't offer the comfort of a plush, disgustingly orange armchair.

With the aid of headphones, Draco had finally managed to tune out most of the noise around him. Movies will try to make you believe that scientists spend their day waving their hands over chemicals and shouting, "Eureka!" But no—science takes place in coffee shops and crowded offices, with tired grad students manipulating lines and shapes to make nifty diagrams that are meant to distract the audience from a lack of actual content.

Draco had finally managed to pick out the perfect color scheme for his slides (white background, dark grey title, and navy blue for the actual "content") and was now selecting the perfect weight for the arrows in what was to be a central diagram. He was caught up in the immensity of this task, and he didn't notice that someone had pulled up a chair and was now sitting across the small teal table that Draco had covered with stacks of paper and textbooks. It was only when he glanced towards the top of his screen and saw a hint of navy fabric in the periphery that he noticed the presence of another person. But he was still too focused on his presentation to look up, instead choosing to be mildly annoyed at the fabric-covered knee that appeared in the corner of his eye as he stared determinedly towards his screen.

With the headphones firmly placed in his ear, he didn't hear the rustle of papers on the table. Nor did he notice when the stranger began to scan through his textbooks. But after wasting five minutes trying to remember the spelling of a chemical that looked impressive when typed up on a screen, Draco gave in and leaned forward to go through the messy array on the table. He kept his eyes down, thinking it would be unfortunate to make eye contact with the sort of human being who chooses to sit down across from strangers in coffee shops. He dug through the papers, trying to locate the one that contained what he needed. But none of the titles matched what he was looking for. He was resigning himself to having put off the search when the paper suddenly appeared in front of him, floating several inches above the table.

Upon closer inspection, he realized that the paper wasn't floating. Rational thought kicked in, and he noticed that the person across from him was holding it out for him. He reached out to grab it and raised his eyes. He was surprised when he saw the person across from him, but he quickly masked his expression and took out his headphones.

"Sorry," came the familiarly unapologetic voice. "It just looked so interesting."

"No need to be sarcastic about my line of work, Theodore," Draco replied coldly. "I hardly expect you to approve."

Theodore grinned at him, crossing his legs as he leaned back in his chair. "No, no. It's fun watching you be a nerd. It's a new look for you" Nott was wearing an expensive, well-tailored suit, which while subdued in color, made him stand out amongst bright sweatpants and t-shirts around him. It was jarring to see him here, a remnant of Draco's old life that had just popped up in the world he had set aside for himself.

"It's been a while," he said, trying to figure out the best approach to this conversation.

Nott's eyes were hard and analytical, making Draco feel like every aspect of himself was being carefully scrutinized. "Four years, I think." There was something firm in his voice that made it clear there wasn't anything, "I think," about it. He knew exactly how long it had been.

"I guess that's my fault," Draco stated casually. "I haven't really felt like going around the charity gala circuit."

"Or the fact that you broke off our engagement," Theodore returned bluntly.

Draco's lips tightened, but he didn't say anything. He didn't remind Nott that they hadn't actually been engaged—that sort of technicality didn't matter when they had grown up accepting their marriage as all but a done deal.

Theodore ran his fingers through his sandy hair. "So," he said, interrupting the awkward silence. "Is this where we discuss the weather?"

Draco set his laptop on top of a textbook, and leaned back. The conversations and sounds of machines seemed to fade away as he focused on the man across from him. "I hope so. I've been getting quite emotional about the recent bout of warm weather, and I could do with someone to vent to." He relaxed back into the chair. "But don't tell me that you came all the way out here just to chat about the weather and watch me make a presentation."

"No, I just happened to be in the area. This," Nott waved his hand towards the messy table, "is just a lovely surprise in the middle of my day."

"Why would you just happen to be around a college campus," Draco asked suspiciously. "Your type doesn't show up here except to donate obscene amounts of money and get buildings named after them."

"Look at you, thinking there's such a thing as an obscene amount of money." The smile Nott shot Draco was filled with condescending mockery. "You sound so middle class."

Draco ignored the jab. "So what are you doing here?"

Nott grinned and smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle on his jacket. "There's a delightful young man who goes to school here. We met a few nights ago at a bar, and it appear that he's done with classes in," he glanced down at his watch, "five minutes."

"And you're here to keep him educated after school?" Draco smirked, thinking back on when they were younger. Their relationship had been an interesting one, and about as monogamous as a relationship between two ambitious teenagers with raging hormones and a cynical approach to emotional attachment can be. Really, "relationship" was the wrong term. It was more of a partnership substantiated by mutual attraction and the prospect of future wealth.

Nott returned the smirk. "You know how I worry about kids these days." He leaned forward and looked through the contents on the table, flipping through textbooks and glancing at the figures in papers. "So," he began skeptically, waving a paper for emphasis. "You actually enjoy this?"

"You're catching me at one of the more mundane moments," Draco replied defensively. "But yes, I like it."

Nott was reading through an abstract, but when he looked up at Draco, his eyes were hard and cold. "And you don't regret your choices?"

Draco crossed his legs and returned the stare, aware that this conversation was going in a very specific direction. "You want me to, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't."

"You don't regret giving up one of the most powerful positions in the industry?" Nott threw the paper back down on the table. He uncrossed his legs and rested his forearms on them. As he leaned forward, Draco had to suppress the instinct to retreat back. "You don't regret breaking off a relationship that would have made you billions?"

The paper was in a disordered heap, with pages flipped over the staple. Draco straightened it out and casually organized the mess on the table. Carefully, he said, "I don't regret making a choice that actually gave me what I wanted."

Nott's response came quickly and angrily. "And what you want is to be married to Potter? Give him all the glory?"

"It's what I have to do to get what I want," Draco replied, refusing to rise to the provocation.

"Really?" Nott's smiled dangerously. He wasn't a particularly handsome man, but there was something about him that made him captivating. After all these years, Draco could see it in how the frightening grin made it difficult for him to look away. "You know that he blushes whenever your name comes up, right? It's kind of disgusting."

"Is that why you're giving Harry such a hard time?" Draco asked, ignoring the flush in his cheeks. "You've been here a month, and you still haven't signed anything."

"You think that I'm petty enough to be jealous?"

"I think that you're arrogant to be possessive."

Nott cocked his head and considered Draco's words. "Fair enough. I don't like it when I'm promised something and then don't get to have it anymore."

The small uneasy knot that had rooted itself in Draco's stomach began to grow. "Are you talking about the business or me?"

"It used to be the same thing." Nott's cold demeanor suddenly shifted, and his tone became much more playful. "Now tell me," he began eagerly, "is Potter coming home frustrated? Oh, I do hope he's coming home frustrated."

"What's the point of all this, Nott?" Draco said impatiently. "You know that you're going to make the deal. He knows that you're going to make the deal. So why are you giving him such a hard time?"

The excited look on Nott's face vanished as quickly as it had come. "Why do you care?" he spat out. "From what I remember, giving Potter a hard time is your raison d'etre. Or wait." His voice suddenly taking on a layer of cruel playfulness, "does Potter make you blush too?"

Draco tried to school his features to reveal nothing, afraid that the tension in his fingers were already revealing more than he wanted Nott to know. "Are you trying to make a point, Theodore? If so, can you make it quickly?"

Nott waited a few seconds before replying, as if mulling what it was he wanted to say to Draco after all these years. "You've gone soft."

Draco cringed. "Poor choice of words."  
But Nott barely noticed Draco's attempt at crude humor. "It's just,…" Nott glanced Draco's work and then contemplated the mass of students around them. "You're just so pedestrian now."

"That wasn't really much nicer," Draco murmured to himself.

"You could have had it all, Draco." Nott's eyes were wider now. If he looked close enough, Draco was sure he would find some vulnerability in them. "We could have had it all."

"Oh, Theodore," Draco said with false sympathy. "You don't think Adele is a bit melodramatic for the situation? If not, I'm sure I can understand your sentimentality. It would be quite challenging to find someone like me."

Nott recoiled at the taunt, but he quickly recovered. "It's not a matter of sentimentality."

"Sentiment, lost business ventures…aren't they about the same to you?"

"They used to be the same thing to you too," Nott accused. "You know, when I first heard that you gave up your claim, I thought it was a joke."

"Most people did."

"Then I thought your father was behind it," Nott continued. "Especially when I heard that Harry was getting the job—I thought he had bought you out so that he could put Harry in charge."

"You would prefer that, wouldn't you?" Draco realized. "Thinking that I gave all that up for money instead of something else."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Nott sighed and bit his lip. He lowered his eyes and hesitantly proceeded. "Because," he said slowly, "it means that I wasn't enough to make you want to stay."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop being so pathetic, Theodore," he snapped. "The jilted lover look doesn't become you."

The effect of his words was instantaneous. Nott sat up straight, a cunning smile returning to his face. "Ah, there's the ruthless Draco I knew and fucked," he said, sounding almost relieved. A few heads turned at the sound of his chipper crassness, but Nott didn't seem to notice. "I do so look forward to seeing that side of you again."

"What does that mean?"

The smile on Nott's face grew wider. "Nothing," he answered cheerfully. He seemed almost giddy, as if this was what he had been hoping for all along. "Just that I hope to see you acting up to your caliber soon. None of these silly games with the likes of Crabbe and Goyle."

"You heard about that?"

"Yes. And it made me realize just how far away you've gotten from who you are."

"And you're here to fix that?" Draco kept his tone light, hoping to hide any weakness in the face of Nott's unnamed challenge.

"I worry about you. That's all." But the glint in his eyes hinted at something far less generous than he was suggesting. Before Draco could launch a thousand threats, the buzz of a vibrating phone sounded. Nott shifted to take it out of his pocket. "Duty calls, Draco," he said, his eyebrow rose suggestively as he waved his phone around. "We can continue this conversation another day."

"I can hardly wait," Draco replied drily.

Nott stood and inspected his clothes, as if afraid that the trappings of the university set had left a stain on his clothes. He leaned across the table and bent down, brushing his cold lips against Draco's cheek. Draco sat like a statue, willing his body to convey no response. But when Nott whispered, "Always a pleasure," the words hit him like ice and sent a nervous shiver down his spine that he knew Nott noticed.

He watched Nott leave, the surrounding sound of machines and people crashing in his ears again and setting a chaotic backdrop to the tumultuous thoughts in his head. Ever since he had effectively ended the possibility of their engagement, he knew that Nott was just waiting until he expressed his resentment—that this four years of no response was just a passive aggressive way to bide his time. He took a sip of his now cold cappuccino, trying to focus his attention back on his work. Eventually, when his nerves had calmed and he had exhausted the worst of his thought processes, he managed to wade through the rest of his presentation. But that night, as he lay in bed and wrapped his arms around Harry, the anxious knot in his stomach returned and kept him awake until exhaustion overwhelmed his senses and finally allowed him the comfort of sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

It was a surprisingly decent turnout for a small research conference. Hermione had spent the first part of the morning dashing between her favorite visiting professors, trying to glean as much knowledge from a five-minute conversation as she could. Draco had imposed a strict restriction on the number of questions she was allowed to ask after each presentation. Her strategy to overcome this constraint was to collate and read through all of the papers written by the presenters so that she could plan her questions ahead of time. Now, functioning largely on the free coffee offered at the breakfast, she was chattering away at another student who seemed terrified at the stack of papers—covered in post-it notes and highlighter—that was in Hermione's hand.

Feeling a modicum of sympathy for the poor fellow, Draco interrupted the conversation. The student quickly took advantage of the escape opportunity, scampering away to the table filled with bagels and breakfast pastries without looking back. Hermione was about to start following him, but Draco blocked her path and shook his head. She looked plaintively at the vanishing student, refusing to accept the silent scolding Draco was trying to convey.

"You can't pester people before breakfast," he reminded her. "Let the poor guy gather his strength first."

The wistful look of a thousand unanswered questions was still clouding her eyes, but she finally stashed the papers back in her bag and focused her attention on Draco. "I wasn't going to ask that many more questions!" she insisted. "Honestly, it was only like five. Or ten."

"There, there." He patted her arm soothingly. "You have the rest of the day to completely unravel his research and make him question his life choices."

The room became increasingly loud as students—exhausted from staying up absurdly late in order to complete their presentations—took advantage of the free food, their bodies becoming temporarily sustained with the fuel of priceless calories and caffeine. They surreptitiously wrapped pastries and stashed them in whatever empty pocket they could find, their backpacks swelling with smuggled bagels and donuts.

Since his run-in with Nott three days before, the stress of work had been a welcome diversion for Draco. He had been up late, frantically cutting words and revising figures. He hoped that before the day was done, he would be inundated with some new obnoxiously stressful work to provide further distraction. Better the stress from work he could control than from a man he couldn't.

He spent most of the day with a knot in his stomach, fragments of his presentation running through his head while he simultaneously tried to pay attention to the other talks and restrain Hermione from accidentally undermining the work presented. When it came time for her talk, she performed her usual ritual: breathe deep for three seconds, whisper, "Okay, I can do this," and then walk towards the front of the room while reciting the mantra in her head. Draco had seen her do this enough times to have the routine memorized. Yes, true to form, once she reached the front of the room, she cracked her fingers, took a deep breath, and cleared her throat. And then the talk started.

She went through her material quickly, barely taking the time breath. No, breathing was a waste of time as far as Hermione was concerned. Her lungs would be better occupied projecting her voice. She rattled off chemicals and reactions with fluent ease, as if they were words she had known since she was born. Her results were impressive, and combined with the rapid pace of her talk, Draco was dizzy from trying to keep up. Only when she was done did Hermione seem to regain her breath. Her face was flushed, and she took a long drink of water. Draco was relieved—his throat had started feeling scratchy on her behalf. It took thirty seconds of dead silence before a brave professor raised her hand to ask a question.

When it came time for his own talk, Draco walked calmly to the front of the room. His demeanor wasn't a product of complete and total confidence in his work—on the contrary, he was quite nervous about how his research would be taken. But he had learned long ago that acting like his presentation was impressive was almost as good as actually having an impressive presentation. Hermione got by on fluency and a frighteningly extensive grasp of science. Draco preferred to rely on a show of bravado coupled with pretty figures and strategically placed buzzwords—it was like passively bullying the audience into revering his intelligence. He wasn't the first person to shamelessly rely on optimistic descriptors like "nanotechnology" and "cure for cancer" to sell his research, but he believed that he was one of the few people to employ them in a convincing manner.

He took a moment to glance over the audience. It wasn't a startling large crowd, but there were just enough people for him to feel a jump of worry in his chest. The feeling became worse when in one last sweep, he noticed a sharp pair of green eyes towards the back of the room. When Harry realized that Draco had discovered him, he smiled and waved his hand eagerly. Then, apparently aware that the people on either side of him were looking at him, Harry quickly put his hand back down in his lap and lowered his eyes sheepishly.

"Yup," Draco thought sardonically to himself. "That's my fiancé." But the thought made him smile. And though he had no idea what Harry was doing there, he felt both reassured and enervated by his presence. It shouldn't make any sense, the excited tranquility he felt when Harry was nearby. But Draco had stopped trying to make sense of it. And as he started talking, he felt himself relaxing into the confidence Harry's presence inspired.

The usual post-presentation adrenaline rush after would inevitably lead to terrible fatigue, but Draco enjoyed it all the same. Basking in the glory of a sufficiently impressive presentation, he chatted amiably with professors and students as he walked around the reception. Harry seemed to be occupying his time with food while he waited for Draco to finish. For a man with access to so much luxury, Harry had an appetite akin to an intoxicated college student.

He was in the middle of stuffing a muffin in his mouth when Draco finished his conversation and headed over. Plucking a napkin off the table, he held it out to catch the crumbs falling out of Harry's mouth.

"Iargh canh tahke cahre orf marself," Harry said as he chewed, his voice muffled by masticated blueberries. Draco almost slapped himself for finding Harry's impropriety endearing.

"I can see that," he replied instead and reached out to sweep some stray pieces that had fallen onto Harry's jacket. "Are you not being fed at work? You're eating like you haven't seen food in days."

"But it's free!" He waved another muffin around for emphasis before getting ready to shove it in his mouth, wrapper and all.

Draco snatched the muffin from him and unwrapped it with the patience of a kindergarten teacher. "You came all the way out here for a free muffin?" he asked, handing it back.

Harry exhibited polite restraint this time, breaking off small chunks instead of stuffing the whole thing in his mouth. "Hermione told me you were giving a presentation," he said in between morsels. "I wanted to watch."

Draco suppressed a smile. "You came all the way out here for a free muffin and to watch me present?"

"Well," Harry started thoughtfully, "I didn't know about the free muffins."

"That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever implied to me." Both of them bit their lips, but it did little to hide their bashful grins. "So," Draco said, working to restore some snarky dignity. "How much of the talk did you actually follow?"

Harry chewed lazily as he mulled over Draco's question. "I understood the part about the chemical," he said slowly but proudly. "And how you put it in the drug to fight the disease."

"So you understood the first four minutes? Sort of." It was a testament to their relationship that Draco considered hiding his smirk. He didn't though. After all, what was the point of pledging to spend his life with Harry if he couldn't smirk at him when it was appropriate?

"Sure," Harry shrugged. "But I bet that's a full sort of four minutes more than you expected." The muffin was gone now, and he was picking the crumbs off the wrapper.

"What'd you do for the last twenty-six minutes?" Draco had avoided looking at Harry for most of the presentation, afraid that he would accidentally start stuttering or confusing words.

Harry licked the last bit of muffin off his fingers. "I was picturing what you'd look like giving the presentation naked."

Draco grabbed the wrapper out of Harry's hand and rolled it into a ball, throwing it into the trash can behind him. "I was standing behind a podium."

"Not the way I was imagining it." The sly grin in Harry's face made Draco's blood jump.

"And that explains why your legs were crossed the whole time."

Harry looked quite pleased with himself. "You did a good job. I mean, even if I didn't really understand what you were saying, you clearly did."

"I do aim for to impress the "Free Muffins" crowd." Draco replied, but he couldn't stop the goofy grin forming on his face. "Thanks though. It was nice of you to come."

The two stood there for a while, Harry asking questions about the talks he had listened to, and Draco patiently explaining as people wandered around them. "Oh!" Harry suddenly said. "I'm supposed to ask you for a favor."

"On whose behalf?"

"Your parents. Your dad called me before I got here."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It must not be too important if you're delivering the message."

Ignoring the barb, Harry explained, "They're having a dinner tonight."

"And they would like to request my attendance?" Draco predicted.

"Yeah. Theodore Nott is going to be there. I think they're hoping you might be able to convince him to stop being so difficult."

Draco felt himself tense up. "Why would I be able to convince him of anything?" he said far more sharply than he had intended.

"I'm just passing the message along." Harry raised his hands up to stress his innocence. "Besides, you two knew each other. He seems like the kind of guy you would be friends with."

"What does that mean?" Draco tried to quash the heated rise in his voice.

Harry shrugged as if it was obvious. "You're both assholes."

"I'm not an asshole."

"Of course you are." Harry laughed at Draco's outraged expression. "It's just that you're my asshole."

"You mean that I spew out shit on your behalf?"

"It feels like it sometimes, yes." Then, a distinctly disgusted expression crossed Harry's face. "Ugh, let's not go down the path of that image. You know what I meant."

Draco pouted. "I know that you called me a bad name," he said in mock childishness.

"You called me a dumbass this morning," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, well, I was tired and cranky, and you were being both dumb and an ass. I thought that 'dumbass' was the most efficient way to get the message across."

"I was just trying to turn the alarm off," Harry replied indignantly.

"And your fist hit me in the chin on the way there."

"And I apologized for that." He sighed deeply before continuing. "But maybe if you didn't push me all the way against the wall, it would be easier for me to reach the clock without having to resort to lunging across the bed. Or," he added helpfully, "you could turn it off yourself."

"I could," Draco considered. "But I probably won't."

"And you still think you're not like Nott," Harry muttered. "If you hadn't decided to do this science stuff instead, you'd probably be just like him." It was an innocuous comment, but it unnerved Draco more than he cared to admit. The idea of being like Nott bothered him, but it really shouldn't have. They had, after all, grown up with the same expectation of what they were entitled to and how they should act to get there. But he just wanted to Harry to know that he was different—better, even. "Hey, you okay?" Harry's voice said, cutting through his thoughts.

"Oh, yeah." Draco shook his head, trying to get rid of the unease. "Sorry."

"Well, it'll be tomorrow night if you want to go."

"Are you going?" Draco asked.

"Yeah."

"Then I'll go too."

"Cool." Harry stopped and examined Draco further. "You sure you're okay?" he asked. "You seem kind of out of it."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," Draco said, feigning fatigue. "Just the start of a caffeine crash." He decided that it was important to change the subject immediately, and he offered to take Harry on a tour of his lab. It wasn't the most exciting tour in the world, but the presence of pipettes and pH meters were foreign enough to Harry to keep him awestruck. As he showed off the experiments he was doing and explained his work in less technical terms, Harry actually seemed interested. And it made Draco happy. Nothing fancy—no birds chirping, no fireworks illuminating the night sky, no sudden outbreak of song. Just the simple happiness of getting to share something that was important to him with someone who was important to him.

Throughout the whole time though was the nagging thought that maybe he should tell Harry about Nott's impromptu visit. The day it had happened, he hadn't said anything because he wasn't sure what there was to tell. A conversation had taken place between him and the guy he was sort-of engaged to. There was nothing so sinister in that. Except, Draco's usually lax conscience reminded him, there was something sinister in that conversation. He just didn't know what it was quite yet.

Part of him knew that telling Harry might help to ease his anxiety. Sure, he might not know what Nott was up to, but Harry had always had a knack for showing bravery (Draco preferred to call it reckless stupidity) in the face of unknown danger. But of the three of them, Harry's actions were also the most predictable. And Draco knew what would happen if he told him what had happened. Harry would get angry and protective, and that meant he would act out. Verbal insults, pushing, shoving—Draco had a thorough understanding of Harry's modus operandi, and none of it would be conducive to a good business relationship with Nott.

It was, truthfully, for Harry's own good that Draco hadn't told him anything. But it brought him little comfort, and the nagging fear that someone would still get hurt lingered in the back of his mind.

 

*****

 

Draco was grateful for the presence of about a dozen other guests at the dinner. He had spent the hours leading up to the event preparing himself for an awkwardly intimate dinner featuring his parents and two guys he'd had sex with. The presence of other important employees of both the Malfoy and DE Corporations managed to dilute the tension. And Harry—in all his blessed innocent glory—seemed to have made it all the way through dessert without realizing that Draco had spent most of the dinner with his hand wrapped around his steak knife, ready to throw it Nott's way at a moment's notice.

But the dinner had passed with little overt threat from Nott. On the contrary, he was acting quite polite. Draco's father had clearly instructed everyone to be on their most diplomatic behavior through the meal, and any references to work were quickly stifled with his mother's masterful conversational skills. But when the conversation lulled, Nott took the opportunity to paint on his brightest smile and ask Draco about his work.

Before Draco could respond, Harry launched into a long, gushing monologue about everything he had learned from his recent excursion to Draco's school. Draco could feel his cheeks burning, and he resisted the urge to slap Harry on the head and yell at him to shut up. It wasn't that he wasn't pleased at Harry's enthusiasm. He was. But he was also anxious about the twisted smile on Nott's face. It was unlikely that anyone else saw it, saw the miniscule curl of disgust that appeared in the corner of Nott's lip as Harry touched Draco's arm and continued talking. He could only imagine what was going on inside Nott's mind.

They were all chatting in the living room when Draco felt a light brush on his back. He didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Harry was in another corner of the room, which left only the insidious touch of Nott as an explanation.

"I want to talk to you." Nott's fingers danced lightly over Draco's shirt.

Draco didn't turn around when he replied. "Then you've accomplished your goal."

"I want to talk to you alone," Nott emphasized, his voice more insistent this time, his fingers still on Draco's back.

Draco tried to adjust his body so that his back was just slightly out of Nott's range, but he couldn't move far enough or quickly enough without attracting attention. "I'd prefer for there to be witnesses."

The fingers dipped lower, the tips whispering a soft touch on the small of Draco's back. "Really?" Nott said, his voice low. He laughed when he heard Draco's breath hitch. "I didn't know you were into that. But there's always time to make up for lost opportunity."

Draco gave up trying to be inconspicuous. He moved abruptly out of reach and turned around. "Stop it."

"I will," came the pointed reply. "When we're alone."

They stared at each other, but it was clear that Nott would only escalate his offensive until Draco gave him what he wanted. He acquiesced without saying anything, deciding that he might have a better chance of getting away with murder if there were no witnesses around. He left the room, not waiting to see if Nott was following him. They walked quietly through the mansion, passing by the exquisite art that lined the walls with the minimal interest displayed by those who can afford to take luxury for granted.

The closer and closer they got to his old bedroom, the more Draco knew this was a terrible idea. He was allowing Nott to control every aspect of their interaction, and he still had no idea what his endgame was. But he shook the warning signals in his mind away. He didn't have a choice right now. If he was going to figure out what Nott wanted, this was the only way to do it.

When they got to the old familiar bedroom, Draco stepped hesitantly inside. It had been at least a year since he had been in there, having avoided it whenever he came to the mansion. He half-expected it to be something completely different—perhaps turned into storage for his mother's latest treasures or a guest room for the select few invited to stay in the mansion. But to his surprise, his parents had left the room untouched. The green silk curtains, the well-stocked bookshelves, the select posters that had earned the privilege of adorning his walls—it was as if he had never left.

Nott entered the room with less hesitation, breathing in deeply as he sat down on the bed. "Ah," he said slyly, caressing the silk sheets. "Such fond memories."

"You could say that," Draco said airily, fingering the binding on some of the books from his high school years.

"We had fun," Nott continued cheerily. "I mean, we didn't go to the same school, but we still had fun. Hey," he said louder. "Remember when we blackmailed your father's secretary into buying us gin?"

"Ah, yes." Draco laughed in spite of himself. "Every good, 'How we lost our virginity,' story should begin with blackmail and end with vomit." He shuddered as he remembered the misery of the following day. He'd had a soccer game that morning, but with the pain in his lower body and the agony in his head, he'd had to tell the coach that he was sick with the flu. "I haven't been able to drink gin since."

"Really?" Nott leaned back and smiled fondly. "Ever since that night, it's been my favorite drink."

Of course it was. The comment snapped Draco back to the matter at hand, and he shifted his demeanor accordingly. "What do you want, Nott?" he asked sternly.

But Nott just grinned with his trademark arrogance. "Come. Join me," he said, patting the bed in invitation.

Draco crossed his arms. "I'd rather not."

"Oh, come on," came the warm, imploring voice. "Watching you stand up is making me tired."

"Then it's a good thing you're so conveniently located on a bed."

Nott sat up slightly, his brown eyes scrutinizing Draco. "What's with you? You used to be so fun."

"Cut the bullshit, Nott," Draco shot back. "I know you're up to something."

"You sound an awful lot like Potter right now," came the disappointed reply. "It's so unfortunate."

Draco's back stiffened. His fists tightened so that his nails were digging into his own arm. "Leave Potter out of this."

"Aw, wook at the widdle defensive fiancé," Nott teased, the small, disgusted snarl he had held during the dinner morphing into a very obvious look of disdain. He stood up and crossed the room.

"You said you wanted to talk, Nott," Draco said, stepping back slightly as Theodore approached. "So talk. What do you want?"

"You."

This again. "Yes, yes. I get that," Draco said impatiently. "Jilted lover and all that." Nott's face became impassive, a clear attempt to hide his response to Draco's words. "But what are you trying to accomplish right now? I hope this isn't an attempt at seduction. If it is, you seem to have lost your touch."

"Oh, come on, Draco." The sly smile returned to Nott's face. "Give me some credit. If I were seducing you, you would be naked and begging for more by now." Draco hated that this bold statement was substantiated by history.

"So you wanted to talk alone so that we could relive the glory of our youth?"

"We're still young." Nott's face beamed with devilish optimism. "There's more glory to be had."

The meaning of his words was clear. "I'm not going back. I made my choice, and I'm sticking to it."

"Commitment." There was a brief moment of silence as Nott tasted the word in his mouth. "That's cute. And a complete waste of your talents."

"Blah blah 'you've become complacent' blah blah." Draco sighed in exasperation and boredom. Sure, he would rather there not be any conflict at all, but would it kill Nott to make the reasoning less dull. "Come up with something new."

"Maybe I already have."

"It'd better be something good. I'm getting tired of this conversation."

"Let me just make something clear—" Nott started, an almost undetectable layer of anger lining his voice.

Draco yawned. "This isn't going to lead to a big speech or anything, is it?"

"You know how I heard about your decision to leave the company?" Nott asked, his eyes narrowed.

"From one of the many spies your company has planted in ours?"

Theodore snorted. "I wish. My mom told me. After your mother called her."

Draco shrugged. "It could have been worse." Maybe he should have told Theodore himself, but he'd been a bit caught up in the joyous combination of a quarter-life crisis and his parents' extreme disappointment.

"Oh, really?" The anger was becoming more palpable now. "Can you think of a worse way to find out that you've effectively been dumped than having to hear it from your own mother?"

"It wasn't about you," Draco said sharply.

"Of course it's about me!" Draco was surprised to see him so visibly upset, to hear the voice rise without control. "Even when it's about you, it's about me! That's how this relationship thing works, Draco."

"We weren't in a relationship," Draco snapped. He wanted to stay calm, to take control of this conversation. But the aggravation was seeping into his voice, rivaling Nott's frustration. "We were in a business arrangement with a side of fucking."

"So you're not really in a relationship with Potter then?" Nott sneered. The words hit Draco harder than he would have anticipated. "It's just a business arrangement with a side of fucking?" Nott stepped forward and lightly trailed his thumb along Draco's bottom lip.

It was a familiar cold touch that locked his jaw in place. The memory of Nott's touch sliced through him, disturbing almost as much as the fact that Nott was right. There technically wasn't any difference between his relationship with Harry and his old relationship with Nott. He wrenched his head away and stepped back. "Stop it."

"What?" The anger in Nott's voice dissipated into mocking laughter. "Is Harry's dick so far up your ass that you've become a goody two-shoes too?" He continued laughing until he saw the look on Draco's face. Holding his hands up in a defensive gesture, he muttered, "Well, I thought it was funny." When Draco still didn't say anything, Nott stared at him and said almost kindly, "But really, Draco. You know this isn't going to last, right? You can try to be good, but it's not going to last."

"You make me sound like a Saturday morning cartoon villain going through an identity crisis."

"That's just about how ridiculous it is watching you try to be whatever this is."

"And yet here you are," Draco taunted. "Still pining after me."

"You know," Nott said icily. "It's in your best interest to be nice to me."

"And why is that?"

Nott seemed to be contemplating how to best respond. Then, smiling infuriatingly, he said, "Do you think I'm just sitting around and prolonging this contract because it's fun?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's not fun anymore." A jeering look replaced the smile. "Actually, it's getting kind of boring."

"Then maybe you should stop," Draco offered.

And just as quickly, the dangerous grin reappeared on Nott's face. "You know I'm not going to. Not when there's so much stuff I can do to bide the time."

The nascent threat underlying Theodore's words weren't for Draco, he just knew it. "Leave Harry out of it."

"Ugh!" Theodore threw his hands up in exasperation. "The heroics are getting out of control! What next? Are you going to be pulling babies out of burning buildings?"

"I mean it," Draco said, his voice firm with defensive resolve.

"Do you?" He analyzed Draco, a thousand plans developing behind the cold eyes. When he spoke again, Draco felt the same anxiety he had felt after their last encounter. "How far are you willing to go so that I leave Potter out of this?" Draco didn't respond. "Because the way I see it," Nott's eyes narrowed, "this is a simple economic exchange. There's a significant entertainment factor to be had in fucking with Potter's life the way I've been wanting to."

"Don't do it." The words came out punctuated with threatening determination.

"Well, I won't," Nott replied calmly. "If you compensate me for my loss." He stepped forward and trailed his finger down Draco's chin. Draco could feel his heart beating faster at the acknowledgement of Nott's desired compensation, and he stepped back again only to find himself flat against a bookshelf. Nott raised an eyebrow at Draco's retreat. "You know, there was a time when blackmail would have you hard and begging for more."

"Times have changed," Draco replied coldly.

"Right!" Nott exclaimed. "Of course! The honorable Mr. Potter has come in and swept your dick into his noble possession." He waited before continuing, letting his outburst subside into a menacing calm. "Do you think you two are really going to be able to keep this up? I mean, how long have you two been together?" Nott shook his head. "I love a good hate fuck as much as the next person, but don't you think it's going to get a bit tiring—waking up next to the guy everyone wants instead of you?" He sounded almost sincere, as if he were genuinely worried for Draco.

"Maybe I got tired of waking up next to you," he retorted.

"I thought you said it wasn't about me," Nott replied unfazed.

"It's starting to be."

"Face it, darling." That strange, sincere sympathy creeped into Theodore's tone again. "One day, you're going to wake up and remember that no one wants you except me. No one appreciates you the way I do." Draco didn't mean to shoot a look, but he did. He rolled his eyes, still not caring for Nott's dramatics or the potential truth of his words. He wanted to say something about Harry, but he wasn't sure what there was to say or why he felt the need to defend himself. "Oh, let me guess," Nott said knowingly, watching Draco's silent confusion. "You were going to say that Potter appreciates you? And why? Because he goes to watch your little science fair project? Because he laughs at your jokes during dinner? Does that make you feel all tingly inside?" The words were bitter and derisive, reducing the vague thoughts Draco had been trying to grasp into the pathetic romantic aims of a desperate boy.

Draco had had enough. He tried to leave, not willing to put up with any more of this. But before he could, Nott stepped in his way and trapped him against the shelf. The hard wood of the shelves dug into his skin as he tried to avoid contact with the man before him. "Let me go, Nott!"

"Why don't you understand, Draco? I'm trying to help you!" And he meant it, he really did. Draco could see that for whatever twisted plans Nott had devised, he thought that he had Draco's best interests at heart. And with that sincerity came the possibility that Nott was right, a possibility that Draco didn't want to entertain. "You can pretend that you've filed down your fangs," Nott continued, speaking softly—even gently—into Draco's ears, "but you're so much better than that. And someone like Potter is never going to appreciate that. You can do all the cute stuff now, but one day, he is going to wake up and remember who you are and how much he hates you for it."

"Shut up!" The words came out before Draco knew what was happening, and so loud that even Nott was taken aback. And in one desperate moment, fear took over Draco's mind. Fear that maybe Nott was right. Maybe he was deluding himself. Maybe whatever was happening with Harry was a fluke, and they would wake up in three months without any interest in each other. It was irrational, something that came out of nowhere and was founded only in the taunting tone of Nott's voice. But insecurity fueled irrationality, which only fueled more insecurity.

And since when had he begun to hope there would be something lasting between them anyway? When had he been so stupid as to stake so much of his happiness on an attachment with another person? He had trained himself to never have this problem, had deftly avoided equating another person's emotional attachment with his personal satisfaction knowing that his marriage would never be in his control. But Harry—Potter!—of all people had to be the one to shatter all of the restraint he had engrained in himself. The realization that he had become far more involved than he had ever wanted took over, and in that desperate moment, an urgent desire to escape the suffocating feeling of a need that only Harry seemed to satisfy overcame him.

And here was his chance, his grand opportunity to prove to himself that he had some control over his own feelings—that he was not some victim to the charms of a romance he had never wanted in the first place. Nott's lips were on his before he had time to think, sensing the vulnerability that curled in Draco's chest and kept him frozen. It would be so easy, wouldn't it? To give in and forget how much he wanted and needed Harry—it would be such a relief.

But it only made everything worse. Nott's tongue had crossed the barrier of his lips, exploring with the insistence of a lover reunited at long last. And Draco could feel the greedy demands of Nott's fingers as they snaked under his shirt and burned into his skin. And he tried, he tried so hard to seek solace in Nott's persistent, understanding hunger. He remembered this body, knew it so well. And Nott seemed to recall every sinful desire of Draco's body, knew where to let his fingers caress and where to let them dig in. But the knot in Draco's stomach seemed to rise, making it harder and harder to breathe until all he could think of was that this needed to stop. That no matter what fears he had, running into Nott's arms was weak. And it would not solve anything.

He hadn't heard the door open. He was so caught up in his blind rage of emotion that he had sensed nothing but the chaotic mess of Nott against his own body. It was only when Draco shoved Nott off him, panting heavily, and turned to run out of the room that he saw.

The green eyes were wide, vivid with shock and something Draco's scattered mind couldn't piece together. The sound of Nott's victorious snicker seemed to jolt Harry into action. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and the shock in his eyes was replaced with something steely. Draco tried to call his name, but before the sound could come out, Harry had already vanished.


	16. Chapter 16

The ride back home was a painful exercise in silent conflict. Harry stared determinedly out the window, refusing to look directly at Draco. Every once in a while, out of the corner of his eye, he would see Draco turn towards him. But it only furthered his resolve to avoid any interaction. He would not—could not—do it. Instead, he tried to distance himself from the cancerous mass of emotions coursing through his blood by counting all the red doors he saw on the passing houses. When that didn't work, and his mind traitorously returned to the image of Draco pressed against Nott, he tried to switch to counting blue cars. And then yellow signs. And then buses and late night joggers and whatever else that could be counted or tracked or anything—anything except face the frightening strength of his own reaction.

But it wouldn't go away. The sight of Draco panting heavily, his face flushed from whatever Nott was doing to him—it all played over and over in his head. And even when he stop clenching his hands so tightly into his pants, releasing them so that only the crescent-moon shapes of his nails indented into the fabric remained, even then he could think only of Nott's hands, still under Draco's shirt doing things only those two knew about.

After stumbling in on them, Harry had spent the rest of the dinner in the refuge of boring conversations with others about golf courses and summer homes. When Draco had appeared in the room, his shirt was tucked in, but it was uncharacteristically wrinkled. And while he had attempted to comb his hair back down, it was not up to his usual pristine standards. Nott was in all those tiny details. When Draco made eye contact with Harry, his gray eyes had shone with something desperate. But Harry had just turned back to the conversation at hand, offering an opinion about golf clubs that was instantly received with roaring approval.

He had looked back at Draco once, but the eyes had lost any remnants of warmth. It was a different coldness than the one Harry had been used to after a decade of enmity; he could swear that it was worse. Or maybe he had just lost the immunity he'd once had to Draco's icier moods.

The only good thing about Draco's demeanor and its effect on Harry is that it distracted him from how badly he wanted to punch the smirk off Nott's face. He had figured that Theodore Nott was not his friend. Only someone with a grudge to bear and a sadistic streak to match would keep the meetings going the way Nott had. Harry had assumed that this was the basic bitterness of someone who had lost the business opportunity of a lifetime. But seeing just how Nott seemed to devour Draco, holding him like a priceless artifact he would break before allowing anyone else a touch, it was clear that this was far more personal for him than a financial loss.

And it was far more personal for Harry than he had known it could be. He had gone searching for the two earlier when Narcissa remarked that they had gone missing. He had wandered around the library and ventured into the backyard, but there was no one there. He didn't think to go to Draco's room until after he had exhausted the kitchen, the dining room, and several other grand rooms he couldn't name. The trek to Draco's room brought back some not-so-fond memories of their awkward conversations there in high school, their attempts at outwardly respectable interaction as Lucius and Narcissa tried to cultivate a friendship between them.

As he walked towards the room, Harry had started wondering what it would have been like if they had put in the effort to be friends. It wasn't so bad to have Draco as his friend. And bed-sharing issues aside, it certainly wasn't bad to have him as a fiancé. He could look back now and see the times he had misjudged Draco. Sure, their enmity was rooted in Draco's casual meanness, but it was also rooted in his teenage insecurity and frustration. And Harry had been the one to accelerate a mild dislike into fully-fledged rivalry. Maybe if he hadn't been so brash, hadn't been so quick to contribute his own anger to the volatile mixture of their mutual enmity, he would have seen the unsure boy Draco was, worried about his place in his family and in the future that had been laid out for him.

Maybe, he thought to himself as he turned the knob on the door to Draco's room, they could have been friends. Maybe even—

But he never got the time to complete that train of thought. It took him a second to process what he was seeing. Maybe two of the other guests had decided to seek out a private room to make out in. In that moment of self-deception, he had hoped that it wasn't his employees. He didn't want to be the one to give a stern lecture about making out in the CEO's son's room.

But then his mind finally registered what was going on. The blonde hair, the slender fingers—he tried to reject the notion that this was Draco. The sound of a groan filled his body with dread. He didn't know from whom the sound came, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was that his mind was no longer able to reject the notion that this was Draco. Witnessing Draco's willingness to meet Nott's demands and the eagerness with which he responded had rooted Harry to the floor, paralyzing him until he heard Nott's taunting laughter ringing in his ears.

Now here they were, sitting in an awkward silence as the car carried them home. Harry didn't know how he was staying so quiet, especially since he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so upset. But he knew that trying to avoid Draco's presence was a vital component of this restraint. He tried to keep up this streak when they got back to the apartment, but before he could shut the door to his room, Draco had stuck out his hand to keep it open.

"Harry."

Harry kept quiet for several seconds, pretending that Draco hadn't just tried to intrude. He walked towards his dresser, slowly undoing his tie and tossing it into a drawer. He turned only when the silence had gone on for too long and he was sure that his face didn't show any sign of his feelings. "Not really one of your best openings, is it?" He hadn't anticipated the gravelly harshness in his voice, but there was a temporary satisfaction in seeing how it cut through the steely grey of Draco's eyes.

"Harry." Draco's voice was softer this time; soft enough to make Harry want to take back his words and apologize, and yet so infuriatingly gentle that it made him want to cause more damage. "I know what you saw, Harry. Just let me explain."

He shrugged, barely maintaining an air of nonchalance. "I don't see what there is to explain." This fake calm was so out of his normal character that he wasn't quite sure where it came from. All he knew was that if he let Draco see just how deeply affected he was, there was no going back. There would be no more hiding behind sarcastic comments and petty fights about sharing the blankets. There would only be him and Draco. And while Harry had not known himself to be afraid of much, that thought made him scared in ways he did not want to understand.

"Just let me explain!" Draco repeated, stepping into the room as he begged.

"I already told you. There's nothing to explain. You and Nott obviously missed each other."

"That's not—"

"I don't get why you're so worried about me," Harry interrupted loudly. "You made it perfectly clear a few months ago that you have no expectation of monogamy from this marriage. Nott's just your Cho, right? I guess a bit more successful though."

Draco's eyes flashed, but Harry couldn't tell if it was because of his accusation or the mention of Cho. He could see Draco trying to calm himself down, the measured breaths going in time to a silent count clearly meant to ease his nerves. That was Draco—always in control. "That's not what it was like," he finally managed to get out.

"Really? What were you doing then—finding the cure for cancer in Nott's mouth?"

Draco's control was so quick to fade. "Will you stop being such a stubborn dipshit for at least three seconds?" His impatient voice was ringing in Harry's ears, leaving a surprised silence in the room. Draco seemed uncertain about the quiet, and lowering his voice, he continued. "Nott still has…a thing for me."

"No, really?" he said sarcastically, sitting down on his desk and crossing his arms. "Of all the times you've underestimated my intelligence, this is really a new low."

"What I'm trying to say is that he really doesn't like you." Draco swallowed. "Like really doesn't like you."

"You mean he wasn't prolonging this deal because he enjoyed the pleasure of my company?"

"Yeah, well, he's not happy that he was supposed to have your place."

Harry knew where this was going. "And now he's launched some big scheme to try and make you feel bad for giving up your position while simultaneously trying to pick a fight with me?"

"So now—." Draco stopped, apparently just processing what Harry had just said. "Well, yes. How'd you—"

"It's what you would do, isn't it? If you were in his position, I mean."

"I'm not though," Draco said quietly. "I'm not in his position."

Harry refused to be swayed by the apologetic look in Draco's eyes. All he had to do was recall the sight of Draco and Nott kissing to stubbornly remain unforgiving. "So you were kissing him because you wanted it?"

"No!" he said hotly. "No. He…well, he threatened you. He said that he might consider not doing it if…I gave him what he wanted."

A small fraction of Harry's anger dissipated. It was a miniscule amount, hardly anything significant, but it was enough to calm him down for a few seconds and focus on what Draco had just said. "Was he specific at all with his threats?"

"No, but he must be planning something. The other day, when he talked to me—"

"Wait," Harry snapped, the temporarily lost anger suddenly returning with greater force. "When was the last time you talked to him?"

Draco looked much more nervous now, and Harry understood that in the stress of the evening, Draco had now revealed far more than he wanted to. He looked uneasily at his sleeves, playing with the cuffs as he avoided Harry's gaze. "A few days ago," he conceded. "He just happened to be in the café I was working in. I had no idea that he was going to be there, and there's no way he could have known that I would be there. But he started talking to me, and it sounded like he was going to try something, but he still hasn't said what it is."

"And you conveniently forgot to tell me this?"

"I…I didn't want you to do something stupid." He was looking at Harry again, biting his lip in a miserable gesture of remorse.

Harry had gotten off his desk and was now pacing back and forth angrily. "So not telling me about the ex-fiancé who is making ambiguous threats to me was the smart thing to do in the situation?"

"Come on, Harry," he shot back defensively. "You have the impulse control of a two-year-old facing down a bucket of marshmallows."

"And you thought I'd just go off on him? Try to punch him in a meeting?"

"I just didn't want you to do something that could affect your job!"

"I've been doing pretty well tonight, aren't I?" Harry was almost yelling now. The room was too small, too hot to deal with this. "I didn't punch Nott in the face tonight, did I?"

"Maybe you just don't care enough," Draco muttered.

Harry stopped pacing. "Excuse me?" he sneered. "I thought this was a good thing. Weren't you complaining three seconds ago that you basically sit around expecting me to go off and do something stupid?"

"That's not what I said," Draco replied through gritted teeth. "Stop twisting my words."

"Then why are you suddenly so upset that I didn't do something stupid?"

"I'm not."

"Fine."

"Good."

Their anger filled the room, keeping them both silent until Harry, still trying to wade his way through the responses in his head, said, "Can you get out now?"

"You're still upset?"

"No, no, of course not," he said sardonically. "I mean, all I've gotten out of this conversation is that you're so worried about my maturity that you stuck your tongue down Nott's throat. Basically, it's the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Harry—"

Harry cut him off, not caring that he was showing the impatience Draco had surely expected. "Would you have gone through with it? If I hadn't come in, would you have gone through with it?"

Draco looked confused at the question. "No. I didn't even know you had come in. I stopped because I didn't want it."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want to."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'Why?'" Draco said angrily. His hands were balled into tight fists in a gesture clearly meant to help him gain some last control over himself. "I just didn't want to."

"Really? Because when I walked in, it didn't look like you were really opposed to having Nott feel you up."

"What does it matter to you anyway? I didn't think you cared so much."

Harry tried to let the comment slide, but it echoed in his head and taunted him. "You're avoiding my question. Why did you want to stop?"

"I just wanted to stop." Draco suddenly looked desperate as he grasped for words. "I thought kissing him would make things better. I just thought it would…fix things."

"What does that even mean?" Harry asked. The sight of Draco struggling to explain was almost enough to make him feel guilty for his aggravation, but the sharp pain of what he had seen spurred him on.

"I don't know! I have no clue!" The frustration in Draco's voice was hard to hear, but Harry couldn't help but feel that he was hiding something—that hidden in the painful exasperation was something Draco didn't want to share. "It's just the way I felt," he continued softly. "And then I realized it wouldn't do anything, so I stopped."

"Right," Harry said matter-of-factly, just wanting the conversation to end. "Okay."

"That's it?" Draco looked baffled, as if he had expected more of a reaction from Harry.

"Oh, right. I'm supposed to do something stupid and impulsive," Harry remembered. "I could punch a hole in the wall. Would that be sufficiently moronic?"

"Harry…." Draco stepped closer; close enough for Harry to smell him. Close enough for him to want to just forget everything that happened that night. Close enough for him to want to pretend that seeing Draco with Nott hadn't affected him so that he could hold Draco and go back to the way things were. One step closer, and he could give in to every impulse that his body ached for when it came to Draco and leave the rest of the night behind.

"Just stop!" Harry raised his hand, trying to keep Draco at a distance. "Can you just go?"

"What?"

"Just let me go to sleep. I'm tired."

Draco swallowed, but he didn't move from his spot. "We need to talk about this."

"Why?" Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head back. It helped to not look at Draco, to avoid seeing the imploring look in his eyes. "You're clearly not telling me everything. As far as I can tell, you and Nott thought it would be fun to fuck around a bit."

"You can't think that!" Draco's voice was almost breaking now. Harry couldn't remember ever hearing him sounding so afraid.

"What am I supposed to think? When you're having secret meetings in cafes that you don't want to tell me about, and then you're about to have sex with him against a bookshelf?"

"So that's it? You think that I was just waiting for Nott to come along so that I could cheat on you?"

Harry opened his eyes to stare at Draco, and the words came out before he could even think to stop himself. "We'd have to be in a relationship for it to be cheating."

There was a flash of recognition in Draco's eyes, like he had heard the words before, but Harry didn't know where it came from, "Right," Draco said bitterly as he turned to leave. "How could I forget?"

*****

The doors to his parents' place were spinning, Draco was sure of it. The bushes next to him were twisting and turning in his brain like a monstrous conspiracy of nature. He had given up on walking in a straight line three shots ago, which was for the best really. After all, it gave his feet a chance to pursue more creative outlets like stumbling. Why walk with the boring monotony of a steady rhythm when you can let your feet explore the wild frontier of the ground?

In the background, he heard Blaise's worried whisper. "Are you sure we should leave him here?"

"He told us to," came Pansy's reply. She didn't sound entire convinced of the situation either. Draco ignored them, staring at the vast expanse of the door as he waited for it to open. Leaning closer, he inspected the door handle. He was a trained scientist—this hardy contraption wouldn't fool him for long.

"He's wasted. I don't think I've ever seen him this drunk before."

"I know, but it's his parents' place. What's the worst that can happen to him?"

"You guyyyys," Draco whined. "Why isn't anyone opening the doooooooooooor?" He tried pulling harder on the doorknob while sending death glares at the doorbell, but to no avail.

"Draco, sweetie," Pansy said kindly, rushing forward to help. "You need to ring the doorbell. Staring at it isn't going to do anything."

Draco lifted his finger and tried to aim at the doorbell, but he could swear it was moving away. He kept jabbing at it, but no matter what he did, he ended up stubbing his finger into the frame of the door. Pansy tried to reach out and ring it for him, but he swatted her hand away. "No!" he cried. "I have to do it!"

"Okay, it's all yours." She back away a foot, letting Draco fumble some more with the pesky bell.

"He still hasn't told us what's wrong," Blaise reminded her.

"I know," Draco heard her tell Blaise. "Ginny said that Hermione said that he's been in a spectacularly shitty mood for the past two days, but no one knows why."

"Have you heard anything about Potter?" Draco perked his ears up at the mention of Harry, but he couldn't quite muster the attention span to focus on their conversation. He had just managed to let a finger graze the bell once—he was so close.

"No. Why?"

"He probably has something to do with it, right?"

"You think so?"

"Of course I think so. But I don't know what happened."

Success! Finally, Draco heard the sound of a bell coming from inside the house. But he wasn't sure if it was loud enough. What if no one heard it? Maybe he should ring it five more times, just to make sure. Ten would be even better. No one could ignore ten rings. Especially if he added one extra ring for good luck.

"If he did something to hurt Draco," Pansy said angrily, "I swear I'll kill him."

In the face of his recent victory over the doorbell, Draco suddenly had enough attention to hear that. "Noooooo! Don't kill Harry!" He ran over to her and shook her urgently by the shoulders. "Please! Don't kill him!"

"Fine!" Pansy stepped back and lightly took his hands off her shoulders. "I won't kill him." It sounded like she meant it, but Draco could see that she was still worried.

The sound of the door opening diverted his focus. His was standing in the doorway, her nightgown covered in a spectacular green silk robe. She looked startled, which was only appropriate given that it was several hours past midnight. "Draco?"

Draco lunged towards the door, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "Moooooooom!"

His mom patted him lightly on the back. "Are you drunk?" It didn't seem like she was asking him though.

"Sorry, Mrs. Malfoy," Blaise mumbled.

"Narcissa."

"Narcissa, right. We went out tonight because Draco wanted to go out," he explained. "I guess he drank a lot, and then when we decided to go home, he said that he wanted to come here. I hope it's okay."

A few seconds of nervous silence followed as Narcissa scrutinized the scene before her. Smiling, she said, "Of course it's okay. Draco, come inside. Here, Pansy, Blaise. You two come inside too. I'll get a driver to take you two home."

"Oh, it's okay," Pansy said. "We have a taxi."

"Nonsense, we'll pay for your trip here, but you should take one of our cars home. It'll be so much more comfortable."

Draco looked back to see Pansy and Blaise having a silent debate about whether to take up his mother on her offer. Ultimately, he knew, the promise of free transport in a luxury vehicle would win out. "Okay, sure," Pansy finally replied. "Thanks."

"Of course," Narcissa said kindly. "It was so nice of you to bring Draco out all the way here."

As they all gathered inside, Draco left the group to go lay down on one of the magnificent couches in the library. He closed his eyes and rested his palm on his forehead. He had no clue why he had decided that running to his mother was the best option right now. He had originally gone out with the intention of forgetting all of his problems, hoping to forget that in the two days since the party, Harry had refused to talk to him; that Harry seemed to be spending as much time as possible out of the apartment; and that when he came home, he would huff past Draco and go to his room, slamming the door shut.

But the more he drank, the more he thought about it. And maybe he should have talked to Pansy and Blaise, but he just didn't want to. The more he drank, the more he wanted to turn to that last refuge of many an anxiety-ridden child: his mother. And by the end of the night, he was drunk enough to demand that they take him to her.

He heard the sound of his mother's footsteps coming towards him, but he still wasn't ready to open his eyes. The ceiling, with all its intricate detailing, was still too dizzying "So," she said, close enough for Draco to tell that she was kneeling down next to him.

"So."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked gently.

"Talk about what?"

"Whatever it is that has you stumbling home at three am with enough alcohol on your breath to set a fire?"

"Oh. That." Draco groaned, losing all his courage. "Nooooo."

"Do you want to talk about something else instead?"

"No."

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"No."

His mother reached out and lightly pushed back some of his hair. "You can't keep this up forever, you know."

"I can and I will. You're my mother. You shouldn't be doubting me."

"No, of course not, dear. I would never underestimate your capacity for petulance." She went quiet, and Draco opened one eye to look at her. "Maybe I should leave you alone."

"Nooo!" Draco grabbed her arm. "Don't leave me! I don't have anyone to talk toooo!"

"Fine, Draco," she sighed. "But you have to tell me what's wrong."

Draco pursed his lips. "I don't wanna."

"You don't want to tell me?" Whatever patience she had been able to muster after being woken up at three by her drunk son seemed to be wearing thin. "Or you don't want to tell anyone?"

"I don't wanna."

"If you don't start talking on the count of five, I'm going to start revoking your wedding opinion privileges."

Draco sat up quickly and instantly regretted it as the library around him seemed to take on a life of its own. He massaged his forehead as he lay back down. "You wouldn't do that!" he insisted, half begging.

"Five."

"You can't let Harry have all the opinions!"

"Four."

"He thinks olive with neon pink is a perfectly acceptable color combination for bridesmaids' dresses!"

"Three."

"And he wants a Weird Al cover band to play during the reception."

"Two."

"He says it will be funny! Two hours of Weird Al impersonation!"

"One."

"Okay, okay, okay!" He tried to form a coherent story in his mind, but the words came tumbling out without control. "So the other day at the party, Nott wanted to talk alone. And so I took him to my room, and he was just going to talk. But then things got out of hand and he started kissing me and I stopped but then Harry came in and now he thinks I'm some big cheater but then I don't think he actually cares even though he hasn't talked to me since then and it's really confusing and now I just feel lonely but I don't know who to talk to because most of my friends are his friends and even you're his friend I guess and I just want things to make sense again but it doesn't."

"Oh," she said after Draco had finished. "That is quite a pickle you've gotten yourself into." But she didn't sound angry, just worried.

"I didn't mean to," he said earnestly.

"I know. But what were you so confused about when Theodore started kissing you?"

"I don't know." Another failed attempt to form useful sentences followed, leaving Draco to stumble through thoughts that he had so far tried to avoid. "It's just…the whole thing with Harry, it's so weird and I didn't think it would matter this much but it does and it's scary and I don't know what to do about it."

"Draco," Narcissa said cautiously. "Do you have feelings for Harry?"

"What?" Draco turned his head to look at her. "No! That's ridiculous!"

"And yet here you are."

"Hmph," he said, not wanting to accept her logic. "Fine. Maybe I have some feelings for him. But it's all his fault!"

"I'm sure it is," she reassured him, her hand resting soothingly on his arm. "And what do you think his feelings are for you?"

"He hates me," Draco mumbled.

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you."

"You should've seen the way he looked at me. And he hasn't talked to me at all in the past few days."

"Have you tried talking to him?"

"I did, but everything I said made it worse. I don't want to talk to him if he doesn't want to talk to me."

"That's not going to get you anywhere," she said.

"That's silly."

"Both of you are being silly. You're not going to get anywhere by not talking to each other."

"I told you, we tried using our words," he informed her, remembering the fight from the night of the party. "But that didn't work out very well."

"Probably because you both refuse to use words you actually mean."

"Huh?"

She smiled sympathetically at him. "Have you ever considered telling Harry how you feel?"

"I can't tell him how I feel about him!" Draco said indignantly.

"Why not?"

Wasn't it obvious? "Because then he'll know that I like him!"

"Oh, honey, I think I know what's happening here."

"Am I sick?" He groaned, turning over onto his stomach so that he could cushion his head better with the pillow. "Because right now my leading hypothesis is a mind-altering virus."

"No, it's just a simple fear of rejection. Everyone goes through it."

"I bet Harry isn't scared of rejection," he grumbled into the pillow. "He's not afraid of anything." He felt his mother's hand on his back and tried remember the last time he had turned to her for comfort like this.

"You say the cutest things when you're drunk."

"It's true though!"

"I'm sure if you asked Harry, he would tell you that even he's afraid of rejection."

"No, he wouldn't," Draco said, not caring that he sounded like a little kid in the middle of a temper tantrum. "He would say that he's not afraid of anything."

"Now you're just being difficult."

"I'm not being difficult! He's being difficult."

"You tried to sue for emancipation when you were four because we wouldn't let you move in with the stuffed animals at the toy store," she reminded him. "I think I know when you're being difficult."

"Can't you just tell him for me?" he pleaded.

"No."

"But whyyyyy?"

"Because the words won't mean anything if they don't come from you." Draco pondered what she said in silence, staring into the bumpy embroidery on the pillow and following the thread with his fingers. His mother leaned forwarded and gently tapped his shoulder. "Draco? Are you awake?"

"Yeah. I'm just trying to plan what I'm going to say."

"I find that it's best not to plan these things," she offered. "Just say whatever comes to mind."

"Yeah. Fine." He stared into the pillow some more, letting the warmth of his mother's presence relax him. "Mooom?"

"Yes?"

"You're not going to tell anyone—"

"That my grown son came to me, drunk and in tears, asking for relationship advice?"

"I'm not crying," he retorted, turning his head to look at her.

"I hope not." She was still smiling, and Draco had the feeling that taking care of him brought her as much comfort as it did him. "It took me a year to hunt down those pillows; I'd hate for your tears to undo my hard work."

"And a fine choice they were," Draco smiled back. He traced the complicated design on the pillow, a pattern of stunning, intricate woven threads. "This embroidery is incredible. They would go so well with my couch."

"If I find that you've snuck them back to your apartment," she noted, her eyebrow raised, "I will send the cops after you."

Draco clutched a fist to himself as he pretended to be hurt. "You would have your only son arrested?" he said as dramatically as a drunk man talking into a pillow can.

"Not if he listens to his mother."

He laughed and relaxed back into the couch. "Do you think Harry has any idea what he's getting into? Joining our family?"

"No, but it could probably do us all some good to have him."

It was true, he knew that. It had already done him some good after all. "You know," he said, turning his head again towards his mom. "I used to really hate him."

"That hardly surprises me."

"But it's weird. After a while, I was kind of grateful for him. I figured that even if you and dad couldn't be proud of me, at least you had him."

"Oh, Draco," she said, her eyes suddenly overcome with sadness. "We've always been proud of you."

"But you would be prouder if I'd stayed with the company, wouldn't you?"

"No," she answered firmly. "Even your father wouldn't like that. We want you to be happy, and I know there are so many ways we've made that difficult for you. But you've worked so hard to make your own life. How could we not be proud?" She sounded so earnest and yet nervous that Draco wouldn't believe her.

"Really?"

"Yes." And then grinning dangerously, "But I'll take it all back if you don't talk to Harry."

Draco had to laugh. "A true Malfoy mother."

She winked at him. "Where do you think your father learned to blackmail properly?"

Draco laid there, his eyes unfocused as he let his thoughts wander. "Do you like marriage?" he asked. He wasn't sure where the question came from, only that once he asked it, he knew that he had wondered it for a long time.

Narcissa contemplated him, probably trying to piece together a satisfactory answer. "Marriage isn't something you like," she started slowly. "It's something you do because you want it more than you don't want it. And I know that your dad and I probably don't always look happy, but marriage isn't supposed to be a happily-ever-after. There's always something that's going to go wrong. And just because something goes wrong, that doesn't always mean it's anyone's fault. Relationships aren't just about romance."

"But are you happy?"

"Yes," she responded decisively. Draco couldn't help but believe her. "Even when I'm unhappy, I will always be glad that I made the decisions I made. Your father, too. Besides," she laughed, "I think he's excited to be able to hand off the company to Harry actually. He's planning a trip for the two of us to the Bahamas."

"The Bahamas?" Draco said skeptically. "That doesn't sound like him."

"The prospect of early retirement can do that to a person."

"Let me know when he decides to go. I'm going to invest some money in sunscreen before that happens." The two laughed together. It was then that Draco realized that all of the tension that he had accumulated over the past few days had finally melted away. "I should get drunk and stumble here more often," he said dreamily.

"I'm sure you'll change your mind when you wake up in the morning and remember all the things you've said," she pointed out. "Not to mention, as your mother, I am contractually obligated to express concern about the state of your liver if you continue to drink as much as I think you did tonight."

"I'll be fine," Draco said, dropping his hand off the side of the couch so that it scraped the ground.

"Of course you will. Now, are you going to pass out here, or would you like to sleep in a proper bed?"

"I don't want to go to my room," he answered, not wanting to return to the place that had started all of this.

"You remember that we have a number of other rooms you can sleep in, right?"

"I don't wanna move."

"Okay, then I won't make you move. Here's a blanket," she said, grabbing one from the other couch and covering Draco with it. "I'm going to get you some water." She smoothed the blanket over him and left the room.

But Draco barely heard her, his eyes closing as he felt, for the first time in the past week, comforted.

 

*****

 

Draco's head was in agony. It was only with the help of several glasses of water, a pot of coffee, and an extensive breakfast involving eggs, potato, and bacon in a variety of different permutations that he had been able to leave his parents' house. He was fumbling through his pocket now, trying to dig out the keys so that he could enter his apartment. His mom was right—when he woke up in the morning and remembered all the things he had told her, he had instantly regretted it. But at the same time, everything piece of advice she gave made sense. Such is the infuriating nature of many a mother.

Maybe he was being silly, worrying about Harry rejecting him. What was the worst that could happen if he opened up about his feelings? Sure, Harry might laugh at him and tell him that he didn't have the same feelings, but Draco could survive that—right?

Just be honest, he told himself over and over again. Just tell him, and if he doesn't like you back, remind him that you're Draco Malfoy and it doesn't get much better than that. Then you can insult his hair and move on. Well, as much as you can move on when you're going to spend the rest of your life with the guy.

He took a few deep breaths before unlocking the door. He could do it. He would do it. Yes, he told himself one last time as he opened the door; he was going to do it.

"Where were you?"

Harry was sitting at the kitchen, a hard look on his face that threatened to crumble Draco's resolve. He was fully dressed, like he had just been at the office. It was the weekend though, so it didn't make much sense. Normally, Harry would be in bed, refusing to acknowledge that the world exists before noon. Nothing around him offered any clue. The only thing on the table was a magazine, but Draco was too far away to see what it was.

"Out," Draco said tentatively. Then, remembering what his mom said about honesty, he added, "I was at my parents' place." Should he say something now? Was this the appropriate time to launch into a full-frontal feelings confession?

"Really?" Harry asked, looking up curiously. "Did you see your dad this morning?"

"No, I don't think so." The morning was still a bit foggy in his mind though, and as he thought longer, he recalled more. "My mom said he had some kind of emergency meeting, but she didn't know what was going on." He took off his jacket and stepped forward. "Is everything okay?"

Harry was staring at him, his fingers tapping an unhappy rhythm on the cover of the magazine. "You know how you said Nott wanted to do something to fuck with me?"

"Yes…," Draco said, inching towards the table uneasily. He could tell that whatever it was he wanted to tell Harry, it would have to wait.

Harry pushed the magazine towards Draco, letting him see the front cover. "Well, it seems like he decided to follow through."


	17. Chapter 17

Hermione had been waiting for word from Harry as soon as she heard about the article, commiserating anxiously with Ron and frantically texting Ginny as the three of them tried to figure out how to best help their friend. When he finally called, anger clearly audible over the line, they had all rushed over to his apartment. Now she was leaning against the kitchen counter, scanning through the magazine article for the eleventh time. "It can't be that bad, right?" she asked. But she knew she didn't sound convinced, that the meager line of hope in her voice was really a public display of self-denial.

"Yeah," Ron said, hesitantly following her questionable lead. "Maybe it will blow over. It's just a magazine…."

"It's Rita Skeeter," Draco reminded them harshly. "Of course it's this bad, and it won't blow over" He was seated at the table, his head rested on clenched fists as he stared resolutely downwards. Hermione hadn't seen his face since she first entered the room. He remained hunched over, a raised mass of silky blond hair that occasionally interjected with angry words.

Harry was standing behind Draco, arms crossed as he rested against a wall. "They're just trying to be nice," he muttered darkly. The added tension of the article was doing nothing to help the unexplained conflict that had arisen between the two over the past week. In fact, Hermione had the distinct sense that Draco was keeping his head lowered so that he wouldn't have to acknowledge Harry's presence.

"Do you have any idea who did this?" Ginny asked. She had grabbed magazine and was now flipping through the seven-page article that had precipitated all this. "It's not like Rita could have known all this by herself."

"We think Theodore Nott probably has something to do with it," Harry stated, his face both grim and tired. "It wouldn't take much effort to dig around and set up a meeting between the Durlseys and Skeeter. We don't know if anyone helped him though."

Draco finally looked up, and for a second, Hermione thought that she had gotten a glimpse of an intangible hurt he was trying to conceal. "But don't worry," he added with an unhappy sneer. "After a very thorough interrogative process, I think Harry has finally eliminated me from the pool of potential accomplices."

"You can't think he did it!" Hermione demanded, her voice rising in indignation as she stared Harry down. He seemed momentarily frightened by her outburst but exhibited no further contrition. "I know you two haven't always gotten along. But really, Harry, Draco wouldn't do this." She noted the small amount of relief in Draco's face at the sound of her confidence in him, but it was quick replaced with exhaustion as he dropped his head back down.

Harry just shrugged. "The article talks about the Dursleys and Sirius. He knew about them." Despite the nonchalance with which he defended his judgment, there was still something more. It was obvious in his refusal to glance down at Draco, in the way both of the men's eyes were laced with red and their throats scratched with the hint of unfinished arguments. Hermione wanted to pry—it was in her nature after all—but she didn't think that would prove effective at this moment in time, not when there was this catastrophe spelled across widely distributed pages.

"It's not like he was the only one," Ginny reminded Harry. "And even if Draco was capable of being this hurtful towards you, which I don't think he is," she smiled sympathetically at Draco, "there's loads of stuff in here that he probably didn't know."

The only sound Harry gave in response was a derisive snort. At the sight of growing sickness on Draco's face, Hermione decided to quickly change the subject. "Why would Nott do something like this?"

Harry and Draco replied at the same time, their voices mixing with a common sense of exasperation.

"Because he likes Draco."

"Because he hates Harry."

With his usual disregard for the general tenor of discussion, Ron interrupted the awkward silence that followed. "What was that?" he asked, genuinely confused and looking more to Hermione for an explanation than anyone else.

"He and I have a history," Draco explained when Harry seemed reluctant to answer. "Given that fact, you can imagine that he might not like Harry."

"Harry and I have a history," Ginny pointed out. "But I'm not about to get Rita Skeeter to write inflammatory articles about you."

The smallest hint of a smile flitted across Draco's face. "And I thank you for that. I would hate to have to destroy you in response."

Hermione was glad to see Draco smile even that little bit, but there was still more to this story that she had to understand first. "She has a point. Jealousy isn't really a compelling motive for something this extreme."

"Oh, Hermione," Draco sighed. "I pray that you never break off an arranged marriage to a power-hungry man who has spent several years sulking over the financial privileges your union would bring."

"You were engaged to him?"

"Basically."

"And do you have any evidence that he was involved in this article?"

"Not yet," Harry replied, cutting in before Draco had a chance to respond.

"Then how do you know he did it?"

Draco stretched out his arms and tilted his head slightly to the side, sliding down the table with the poise of a tired drunk pleading for one last round. "Because he said he would do something. And this is exactly the sort of thing he would pull."

"You mean this is the sort of thing you would pull," Harry accused in a low voice.

At this point, Hermione couldn't tell what was worse: the quick flicker of pain or the lasting defeated that followed in Draco's eyes. "It's the sort of thing anyone who wanted to both embarrass you and sink your chances of becoming CEO would do," he answered, an astonishing patience keeping his voice level. "But I think we both know that there are about fifty more elegant and effective paths I could take to destroy you."

A lump derived from fear formed in Hermione's throat at the notion that what Nott was doing could effectively ruin Harry's career. "It's that bad?"

"It could be," Harry answered, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly in a peculiar display of resignation. It was so unlike him to seem so subdued, but maybe it wasn't Nott who had brought him to this state. No, Hermione knew that it would take something deeper than a Skeeter-penned article to reduce Harry to this.

"But it's just a bunch of maudlin gossip," she said. "They can't actually say anything bad about you based on this."

"Did you miss the full interview with the Dursleys about my horrifically ungrateful behavior over the years after they sacrificed so much to take me in following the tragic loss of Petunia's only sister."

"But that's not even true."

"And what about Skeeter's account of every drug Sirius was addicted to, along with a psychological survey of the effect his influence may have on me? If it isn't bad enough that she dragged his name through this shit, she actually called in five different psychologists to spew some bullshit about how growing up under the guidance of a former drug user could have a serious impact on my morality and leadership qualities. They even captioned one of Sirius mug shots with a paragraph detailing the likelihood that I gained my business skills from a young life of crime and drug dealing."

"But that's just more lies. You wouldn't be where you are without him though." And yet, Hermione knew there was no point to her denial. The damage was obvious, and its implications were even clearer. But she still felt a strong urge to stomp a boot all over Rita Skeeter's face.

"It's not exactly good PR though, is it?" Draco said. "All people are going to think when they read about Harry now is that he's a kid who got his moral system from a deranged criminal because he was too ungrateful to accept the loving guidance of the aunt and uncle who took him in."

"Not to mention the description of his previous romantic entanglements, including the scandalous antics of one Ginerva Weasley," Ron pointed out. Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs, sending a pointed look that quickly shut up any of his protests.

"Skeeter aims low," Draco assessed. "But she makes sure to attack whatever else she can get on the way there."

"I can't believe she even brought up half of these things though," Ginny said, looking over Ron's shoulder at the long paragraph detailing her many misadventures. "I mean, sure, I've gotten in a bar fight or ten. I don't see what that has to do with Harry. He wasn't even there."

"None of these things have anything to do with Harry." Draco sounded defensive, angry on Harry's behalf as he started talking faster. "She's trying to dredge up as much scandal that might be tangentially related to him because she knows people will read it. And with the Dursleys practically dying for the chance to be paraded around for the public, people are going to want to believe what she writes. I wouldn't be surprised if every morning news show decides to include a segment about Harry's supposedly sordid youth, and it's going to be hard to disprove any of it when people want all of it to be true." He paused for a moment, biting his lip and then adding, "People are a lot more interested in the story of a powerful man who might not be as good as he sounds than they are in the story of a decent person who does good work and becomes successful without sacrificing his integrity."

Whatever it was Harry expected to hear from Draco, that was clearly not it. He shifted uncomfortably against the wall, and Hermione had to resist the urge to repeat the old mantra of, "See, Draco's not that bad!"

"But it's all just some fucked up bullshit that she's spinning out of her ass," Ron said, steamrolling through whatever moment was happening in the kitchen. "And there's nothing in here about how much he's done for the company. This can't really be enough to threaten his position, can it?"

Harry swallowed. "It was enough to make some of the board consider whether it might be prudent to pursue other options."

"No!"

"One faction is worried that I can't be trusted without supervision. And then there's another group that's worried that the first group's lack of confidence is going to make for bigger issues later on. They think it's better for everyone if I step down now as a preventative measure. Still, Lucius said it wouldn't happen." But no matter how much confidence Harry tried to muster, there was an unmistakable anxiety that his words couldn't conceal.

"But if it gets out of hand," Draco added gently, a matching worry in his own voice, "I don't think there's anything my dad can do."

"Do you have a plan?" Hermione asked, trying to run through some ideas in her head at the same time. If only she could do something to Skeeter that would give her a taste of her own medicine.

"There was an emergency meeting today," Harry informed them. "But nothing came out of it. We're probably going to have to have some sort of press conference, but we still have no idea of what to say or what sort of image we're going to present."

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Ginny said softly.

"What for?" he asked. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"If I had know that she was going to use the things I do—"

Harry quickly interrupted her. "Don't apologize, Ginny," he said firmly. "None of this is your fault."

The effect of Harry's words was instantaneous but subtle. A strange misery settled on Draco's features that Hermione had never seen before as he looked back quickly at Harry. It was almost as if he were jealous of Ginny, but Hermione could hardly understand why that would be the case. It frightened her to see Draco like this. He looked towards her, and when he realized that she was staring at him, Draco's face abruptly shifted back to the emotionless facade he usually donned.

"Is there anything we can do?" Ron asked.  
Draco laughed darkly. "Nope. Not unless one of you is willing to kill Nott in his sleep." He looked around at them as if his suggestion was serious. "No? No one? Some friends you all are." Then he placed his head back down on the table. It was the closest he had come to the sarcasm Hermione would have expected out of him, but watching him sink defeated into himself as the conversation continued around him was hardly reassuring.

*****

Harry closed the door after their friends. "You didn't have to be such an ass to them," he said, a fight ready in his eyes.

"I didn't tell them anything you didn't tell me first." Draco answered, slowly lifting himself up from the table. He had no desire to participate in this conversation, or really in any conversation. Whether it was the hangover or the argument that had ruined the eagerness he'd felt this morning, or perhaps his burning desire to throw Nott off a wall, it was draining him of all his energy.

"That's different." Harry was edging closer, but Draco just got up from his seat and started walking towards his room.

"Right," he responded without looking back. "Because they're your blessed companions, and I'm just the shitty human being who fucks you on a nightly basis. In fact, I'm such a shitty person that I would sell my fiancé's private life to a magazine for shits and giggles."

"I told you that I believe you," Harry said, storming after him. He grabbed Draco's wrist to stop him, forcing Draco to turn and look right into the green eyes he had been avoiding this whole time. "Why are you still on this?"

"Because you don't actually believe me," Draco hissed, tearing his wrist out of Harry's grip with such force that Harry stumbled back. "You believe the fact that I don't get anything out of this."

"It's a much more convincing argument."

"Great. Lovely. So you still think I'm a terrible human being, it's just that I don't benefit from being terrible to you." Draco didn't want to have this argument again. He'd had it once already today, and it had been hard enough getting to this tenuous position of trust.

"What else can it be?"

"Because maybe I don't want it to happen to you. Have you thought about that? After everything that's happened the past few months, maybe I care about what happens to you."

Harry stepped towards him, and it was as if the tension between them forced Draco's body to acknowledge every centimeter of Harry that approached. "Of course you care about what happens to me. It's in your best interests." The words were so cold it was as if they came from an entirely different person, slicing an icy path through Draco's pounding heart.

"Is that what you think this is about?" Draco asked, staring directly into Harry's eyes. He could no longer back down. Even if he was exhausted, he had to make Harry understand.

"Isn't that what it's always been?"

"Never. Never with you." With every exhale, Draco felt his lungs getting heavier and heavier. He could be honest, he told himself. He could be vulnerable. He could lay all of his feelings at Harry's feet and risk that they would be trampled and discarded and treated with contempt. He just needed a few more seconds, a few more minutes. He just needed time and to be so much stronger than he was. "You know what would have been in my best interests from the beginning?" he proceeded softly. "If I had used you and manipulated you by faking a friendship that I didn't feel for you when we were in high school. It's so much easier to hurt someone when you've made them trust you first. But I can never pretend, not when it comes to you."

"So you weren't pretending when you let Nott kiss you then."

"I wasn't pretending when I stopped!" he cried out, frustration forming a prickly heat behind his eyes. "Why can't you believe that?" He couldn't do this. It was too much to ask of him and too much to ask of Harry to even begin to believe him. "Why is it so easy for you to accept Ginny's apology and not mine?" Draco pleaded, knowing the question wasn't entirely fair and yet still resenting the distribution of Harry's forgiveness.

"You haven't apologized."

"Well, I am sorry. I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for hating you when I didn't know you. I'm sorry for every time I've punched you. I'm sorry for every time I've tried to get you in trouble. I'm sorry for all of those things. And I am so sorry for thinking that I wanted anything to do with Nott, even for a few seconds." But there was hardly a change in Harry's expression. "See," Draco said slowly, "I can apologize for everything, and you won't accept any of it as quickly as Ginny's apology."

"Because nothing Ginny has done has ever hurt me as much as you did!" The words must have come out louder than Harry planned because even he appeared surprised by his own vehemence. He stared at Draco, and for a brief moment, he looked as frightened as Draco felt. But Draco was sure he had only imagined it.

They stood there in the suffocating quiet as Draco tried to piece together what Harry had just said, what it could possibly mean. But before he could work up the courage to ask, Harry walked passed him as if to go to his own room.

"Now it's your turn to explain yourself," Draco said to the retreating back.

Harry paused. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," he stated adamantly. "You've spent this whole time acting like a self-righteous prick about what happened at the party, before Nott even pulled anything with this magazine article. You have no right to be upset with me about this, not given the way this whole thing between us has gone."

"You lied to me!" Harry shouted, turning and pacing back towards Draco.

"And I'm sorry for that. I really am. I thought I was doing the right thing for you, and I completely fucked up." Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Do you think I like admitting that I did something wrong?"

"I appreciate the tremendous courage you've shown in this admission," came the mocking reply. "It means a lot."

"What's the point of even trying to talk to you if you're just going to be a stubborn, arrogant ass about it."

"What's the point of us talking in general?" Harry snapped back. "We can pretend that we get along temporarily, but aren't we always just going to end up fighting?"

In the time that it took Draco to comprehend what Harry was saying, he realized that the stakes were now raised. "So that's the wisdom of the great Harry Potter," he spat out bitterly, "purveyor of all things heroic."

"This has nothing to do with heroism."

"Really? Because I always thought giving up is something cowards do."

"What is there to give up on?" Harry ran his fingers through his hair, looking around the hallway as if the walls would somehow give him the answer he was looking for. "We have never gotten along, Draco. We have always hated each other. That's how it's always been between us, and maybe that's how it's always supposed to be."

"Then what have the past few months been to you? Some kind of stroll in the momentary peace of my backside?"

"No!" Harry insisted.

But Draco just kept going, his own desperation fueling a need to fight back. "And now that Nott has thrown in a bit of a wrench, you're just going to give up on whatever it is that's happened between us."

"That's it though. What's even happened between us?"

"We're not going to figure it out if you're too scared to pretend that it's not real."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, for fuck's sakes, you are so fucking stupid." Before Harry could argue, Draco grabbed him and pulled him in for a crushing kiss. The taste of Harry's lips on his own, the feeling of Harry slowly easing into his grasp and returning the kiss with questioning reluctance and then, finally, eagerness, they were intoxicating. And whether it was the fear of knowing that it was now or never, or the strength that he felt from feeling Harry so close, the words came out so fast, so easily. "I care about you, Harry," he whispered against Harry's lower lip, too afraid to look into Harry's eyes. Harry's chest was rising and falling fast under the touch of his hands. "I like you. I have a crush on you. I have feelings for you. I…I'm falling in love with you."

When he finally looked into Harry's eyes, he saw only a skeptical awe. "No, you're not," Harry said. There was a hitch in his throat that made his voice sound like it had been run over gravel.

"Yes." Draco stated firmly. "I am."

Harry's face was still etched with reluctant disbelief, coming from the years that seemed to directly contradict with what Draco now felt. "No, you're not. You can't possibly be in love with me. You don't even like anything about me."

"I do though. I like that you're impulsive and caring and selfless and stupid and brave and everything else that I have hated about you. I like that you don't let me get away with everything I do, even if it's frustrating to have to understand your standards. I like that you listen to me complain about my day and try to pay attention when I talk about things you don't understand. I like the idiotic way you smile when you think you've bested me. I like the way you hold me. I like your stupid hair and your stupid clothes and how they don't really seem all that stupid on you. And I know these things sound so small and silly, but all of these silly things that I never thought made a difference suddenly matter so much because it's you."

"Draco—"

"And by your own definition, you know everything I'm saying has to be true because I get nothing out of telling you this. I get nothing out of sounding like some bloated, clichéd Valentine's Day card except your skepticism. But if you don't believe what I'm saying, you're not going to understand anything I do when it comes to you. I know that I've earned every ounce of your distrust," he said imploringly without any regard for his dignity. "But I need you to believe me now."

Draco had spoken the words quickly, letting them tumble out with the ease and honesty that comes when there is no thought put into them. He let go of Harry's shirt and began to slide down the wall, sitting on the ground with his head hunched over his knees. He didn't want to look up at Harry. He was too afraid to see what effect his words had, and even more afraid to see that maybe they would have no effect at all.

This time when Harry asked, "Why did you kiss him then?" there was an uncharacteristic crack in his voice. Draco finally looked up and saw the green eyes filled with a pain so strong that Harry must surely have hid it from him this whole time. In all the years he had known Harry, he had never seen him reveal his wounds like this, had never even thought he could cause this sort of hurt.

"Because," Draco said, leaning his head back against the wall as the last barrier inside him crumbled away, "I have never been as scared about anything as I have been since I realized that I need you even more than I want you."

Harry was staring at him, his eyes still wide with shock and confusion. But he said nothing. Draco tried to avoid contemplating the thoughts that might be running through Harry's head. But instead, a litany of increasingly terrible scenarios weaved through his own mind, and the hall suddenly seemed both hotter and smaller as his eyes itched with suppressed tears.

Draco took in a long breath. "If you'll excuse me," he said, hoping to hide his scratchy voice with a sense of casualness, as if he hadn't just leapt off a metaphorical cliff, only to find that he had no idea where the landing would be. "I'm going to go to my bed and pass out in the hopes that when I wake up, a modicum of my dignity and youthful beauty will be restored."

Before Draco could stand up though, Harry had already kneeled in front of him. Harry cleared his throat and regained his composure. "It's four in the afternoon," he said, but despite his similar attempts at casual behavior, his voice was still stretched with emotion.

"I'm not exactly used to confessing my undying love for people. I haven't built up the endurance for this kind of emotional verbosity."

"You didn't exactly confess undying love."

Draco scanned Harry's face, which managed to remain impassive for several seconds before the small hint of a joking smile appeared. He had no idea that such a slight muscle movement could have such an effect on his own body. After days of having anxiety and fear overwhelm his body, this simple sight was enough to relax him just a little bit.

"It was implied," he replied, grinning hesitantly back.

"As a destination, not as your exact location right now."

"Seriously? That's the closest you get to poetry, and it's about the fucking semantics of my grand statement of enduring admiration for you." Laughing, Draco moved to stand up, but before he could make it, he felt a light touch on his arm and realized that Harry was even closer now. It felt like so long since they had touched like this, and an ache inside Draco craved so much more. A thumb was lightly caressing Draco's lower lip. Harry looked like he was contemplating every aspect of him as he sat still, overcome with how much he wanted to ask of Harry in that moment. "Don't," he whispered as Harry's lips danced gently over his own, just barely understanding what he was doing.

"Why?"

"Because given everything that's just happened, anything you do or say right now is going to seem like a consolation prize to make up for the fact that I just poured out my heart to you and you don't know what to say."

"So now you don't trust me?" Harry asked, caressing Draco's cheek with a feathery touch that threatened Draco's already thin resistance.

"I trust you to act as noble as you always do," he explained. "I trust you to feel obligated to spare my feelings."

"Which makes me too good to be believed?"

"In the heat of the moment," Draco sighed, "yes. All I want to hear right now is that you believe everything I just said."

"I do." And never before had Draco heard more beautiful words. There was a brief pause before Harry added, "But can I say one thing?"

"Is it really necessary?"

"Yes." He pulled back so that he could look Draco in the eye. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"For being a stubborn, arrogant ass."

"If I held that against you," Draco assured him, "we would never have gotten to this point to begin with." He reached up and tucked some of Harry's errant hair back before wrapping his arms and legs around him. He pulled Harry in closer, and when he felt the other man's arms around his waist, Draco knew that everything would be okay. There would always be things to fight over and things to be upset about. But if only he could have Harry with him in moments like these, the two of them staying entangled in each other as the world passed them by, he would be okay. They stayed like that, silent with the unspoken words that would one day be promised out loud and the immediate hope that what they had now would be enough.

It was the vibration of Harry's phone that brought them back them to reality. Extricating himself, Harry looked through message with furrowed brows, his expression darkening as he read more.

"It's about the article, isn't it?"

"It's just a small sample of the e-mails we've been receiving from citizens who are concerned that your father has been hoodwinked my charms." Harry pocketed the phone and leaned back, running his hands anxiously through his hair.

"That's silly. You don't have any charms."

The quip seemed to help Harry calm down a little. "Weren't you just saying something about undying love?" he countered playfully.

"I've been known to have a generous spirit."

The sound of Harry's laughter was enough for Draco to feel content in that moment, but it could hardly last in the face of everything that was going on.

"Draco," Harry said when he had returned to a somber restlessness. "What should I do about Nott?"

"I don't know yet. But if I think of something, you realize that this will be the third time I've come to your rescue?" Draco smirked at Harry's disgruntled expression and brought him in close again, gently kissing him on the forehead where the thin scar formed its bolt shape. "You're starting to make quite a nice damsel-in-distress."

"As someone who supposedly has a hero complex, I should tell you that counting rescues for future gloating does not a hero make."

"I'm not you though. I'm smarter and more capable of making a profit. My heroism comes at a price."

Again, the sound of Harry's laughter made Draco feel light with relief. "I missed you," Harry said, his breath like a hundred little kisses against Draco's neck.

"Yeah." Draco sighed. He felt his eyes shutting as a wave of exhaustion and relief overpowered him. "I missed you too."

*****

When Draco woke up, the first thought that hit him was that he was no longer on the ground. He hadn't even realized that he had fallen asleep on the floor, but the slight crick in his neck as he stretched out on the soft mattress reminded him of the uncomfortable position he had begun his nap in. At the time, he had thought only of the warmth of Harry's body molded against him.

Romance: good for your heart, terrible for your posture.

Harry was sitting at his desk, tapping lightly at his laptop. Turning his head slightly at the sound of Draco's movements, he noted, "You're awake."

"That is an astute observation," Draco said groggily as he stretched his arms above him. "Did I sleepwalk here?"

Harry closed his laptop and revolved around in the chair. "I carried you." He stood up and approached the bed.

"You carried me?" Draco asked, watching Harry stalk towards him.

"You don't remember?" He was sliding into bed now, smirking impishly at Draco. "You practically begged me to."

As the mattress shifted under Harry's weight, Draco let himself roll closer to the other man. "That doesn't sound like me," he said lazily against Harry's chest.

It looked like Harry was going to add something else, perhaps a list of all the ways in which demanding to be carried to bed was exactly in line with Draco's personality. But Draco didn't have time for that. Not when he felt light and frankly, kind of giddy. Not when the only things his brain could process now was Harry's green eyes and smooth skin, when all he could feel was an intense desire to run his hands all over Harry and greedily claim him.

Before Harry could form his next words, Draco leaned forward and caught Harry's lips in a tender kiss. It was slow, languid, and he savored every moment of the gentle touch. He caressed Harry's cheek and traced his jawbone with a finger, savoring the connection and pleasure of this hushed pace. When it ended, Harry stammered hoarsely, "I thought you didn't want to."

But Draco didn't say anything. There was no time for words and explanations, not when there was an immediate need to be addressed. Instead, he pulled Harry by the shirt so that he was on top of him. The kiss was still slower than most of theirs had been, filled with a quiet, consuming desperation instead of the usual impatient urge to crash into each other. Draco took the time to memorize every edge of Harry on him, relishing every point of contact that kept them so intimately knit together.

The rhythm of their need began to take over, and soon they were scrambling to take off the pesky clothes that formed unnecessary barriers between their bodies. As Harry peeled off his shirt, Draco leveraged himself so that he could mix a combination of lips, tongue, and teeth down Harry's neck and chest. He rolled a nipple under his tongue and then lightly bit down, relishing the brief cry of pain that quickly turned into a long groan as Draco's fingers toyed with the other nipple and danced down the rest of Harry's body. Everything about Harry was right, about as perfect as anything Draco could ask for. How he could ever think this was anything fleeting, that Harry could be anything less than a constant pulse that crept under his skin and sustained him—how Draco could have ever felt anything less than what he felt now, he had no idea. It must have been nice, he thought, to there have been a time when he didn't feel so much for one person, to not have his own happiness wrapped up so much in the presence of another. But he had no desire to return to that state either, not when this gave him Harry.

When Harry's hand wrapped around Draco's hardened length, it took all of Draco's self-restraint to not come right then. He moaned as a finger traced a delicate circle around the tip, and with the sight of Harry so powerful above him, Draco's body pleaded for release. His pants were still indecorously bunched around his knees, having never quite made the full path off. It was an added constraint, but he could hardly think about it as Harry's palm rubbed against him, drawing out uncontrolled gasps as he demanded more.

Draco was nervous that Harry was currently exhibiting a hitherto unknown patience, putting off the end they both needed. There was a time for foreplay, but after days of argument and recent confessions, this was not one of them. But just as Draco became afraid that he would have to resort to begging, Harry released him. When Harry reached over to grab the bottle of lubricant from his nightstand, Draco kicked off the last of the clothes he was wearing.

Harry was on his knees now, fully naked with a small squirt of clear substance around his fingers. Draco watched mesmerized as Harry inserted the fingers inside himself, groaning as he started with one finger. It was an agonizing, teasing movement to watch, and Draco felt jealous with the need to fill Harry. But he was still enraptured as Harry bit his lip and added another finger. Not content with just looking, Draco sat up so that he could take Harry's erection into his own mouth, gasping when Harry's hips thrust roughly towards the back of his throat. He ran his tongue down the shaft, then filling his mouth again with Harry while feeling the back of Harry's ass with one free hand. But now the noises coming out of Harry were getting to be too much, and Draco collapsed back on to the bed, shoving Harry back so that their hips met with a force that matched their desire.

Thankfully, Harry seemed to understand the need for expediency. He moved his hips so that at first, their erections were gliding slick against each other. But then finally, mercifully, he guided Draco inside. He arched back and then began to lift his hips up and down, making Draco groan as he felt Harry all around him. He raked his nails along Harry's thighs, gripping tighter as the heat in his blood seemed to send a coursing haze of uninhibited longing to every part of him. He tried to match Harry's movements, thrusting his hips upwards as he watched Harry almost whimper with the effort of keeping up with the more intense rhythm.

The sound of his name coming so gutturally from Harry's lips said everything Draco could hope to hear. This was all he needed for now, to know that Harry wanted him and maybe even needed him. The turmoil of the past few days seemed to vanish as they cried out for each other, their hands having woven together in a tight grip while they demanded all they could of the others body.

After, when they had collapsed into each other and Draco traced the muscle in Harry's shoulder while regaining his breath, he felt the final wave of relief that he had held at bay: the relief that came with acknowledging that what this was with Harry was not just a simple matter of physical mandate, but a deeper longing that he would have once cynically dismissed as a romantic's attempt to make sex something more than a basic release. And as his mind returned to the world outside of just the two of them, Draco felt that though he was not done with Nott, and that there was still much work to be done, he had at least this one victory that was his own: that no matter what Nott hoped to accomplish, he could not take this away from Draco.


	18. Chapter 18

Theodore Nott was a busy man.

Today, for example, he woke up early enough so that by 7 AM, he had run five miles, executed three hundred sit-ups, and completed two hundred push-ups. By 8 AM, he had taken a shower, combed each strand of his hair perfectly into place, picked out his suit, and left for the temporary office that had been set up to suit his exacting standards. By 9 AM, he had already fired three assistants and then, fifteen minutes later, hired back the one who didn't cry. And while his schedule was packed for the rest of the morning, he did allow himself time for one tiny diversion around noon. After all, he'd earned it.

The stream on his computer flashed from black to a sudden burst of color, and a reporter appeared on the screen, briskly describing the range of events that might transpire shortly. Internet commenters filled the page underneath with opinions that would embarrass their parents and teachers due to a lack of both polite language and intelligence. thepussysoaker69 was a particularly belligerent participant in the discussions, weighing in with the sort of blowhard dialogue and self-assured stupidity that likely came from a lifetime of fondling his own dick while staring wistfully in the mirror.

It was enough of a diversion for Nott as he waited patiently for the real action to start. The reporters and commenters were wrong of course. They were so focused on the obvious details that they had completely missed out on the subtlety of his genius. But Nott was used to it. A good plan is the one few people can see. And no matter how much he would have loved to take credit for his brilliance, he loved the idea of victory even more.

Finally, a small contingency of tired-looking men and women gathered in front of a wall featuring the Malfoy Corporation logo, and following them came Lucius, Draco, and Potter in a stern parade. Their entrance was followed by the loud outcry of flashing lights that bounced around chairs and off predatory reporters who were poised perilously on the edge of their seats. After coughing a few times to silence the crowd, Lucius began to speak, his tone firm and solemn. Nott took a second to mimic him, attempting to replicate the stony expression and stiff neck. But when he tried to imagine himself with the long blond hair of the elder Malfoy, Nott broke down in a fit of peevish giggles.

He tried to pay attention to Lucius' speech, a terse yet passionate declaration on the integrity of Harry Potter, but it was like sitting through a lecture about the migration of bacteria on a petri dish. Not that Theo knew what that was like, but in the dreary world of schoolwork that he sometimes imagined for Draco, these sorts of lectures existed as a satisfying source of daily torture. Lucius' speech was unimportant anyway. All Nott really needed to know would be painted across Harry and Draco's faces.

They were now moving on to some dreary tale about Sirius Black's path to redemption and how it had shaped Harry in to such an upstanding young citizen; but the drab tale of moral rags-to-riches did little to inspire Nott's interest. He leaned forward, as if putting his nose closer to the screen would make Draco's face more prominent. Why didn't these cameramen understand that the important view was on that face? He should have paid one of them to take all of the video from that perspective. But dallying so close to journalists for so long made him uneasy. He preferred to not turn so often to people who made a living off a lack of discretion.

A flurry of sounded thundered out of the speakers, indicating that the floor was now open for speakers. Nott quickly adjusted the volume while trying to filter through the noise so that he could hear some of the questions. No one seemed to be addressing Nott's main concern: what Draco had thought about being stuck between a cock and a hard place. "Yes, we have a question for Mr. Draco Malfoy. Just how has your relationship with Mr. Harry Potter survived one Mr. Theodore Nott's tongue down your throat?" Ah, Nott was seriously regretting his decision to not bribe a reporter or two. What he would do to see that precious blush of anger that would sweep across Potter's face again. Draco's dick was wasted on such a tragic piece of maudlin heroism.

As composed as the group appeared, there were still miniscule shifts of eyes and awkward shifting in seats that hinted at a deeper tension. If Nott didn't know any better, he would think they were waiting for something—some miraculous solution to all of their problems. He chuckled, imagining some magical _deux ex machina_ appearing in the room, dressed in billowing robes and sporting a magnificent white beard.

He was delighted that Harry and Draco were both sitting so stiff, their shoulders rigid as if they were being held in place with planks. They weren't even looking at each other. Maybe Draco had taken his words to heart; maybe this currently posture was representative of a fallout that would allow Draco to finally come to his senses. He only wanted the best for Draco after all. More importantly, Nott only wanted the best for himself, and the best was Draco.

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing as he scrutinized the only face that really mattered. The stoic expression was so convenient, allowing Nott to paint a series of emotions on Draco's behalf. He disregarded Harry's scowl. It was too obvious to be noteworthy, even as Potter opened his mouth to recite whatever answer had been prepped for him. Sure, he had some sort of scrappy charisma that almost made him endearing. Sure, the words he was saying seemed perfectly suited to win over the crowd. But Nott didn't worry too much about that. The damage was still there on paper. A few words from Harry Potter wasn't going to change that.

He kept his focus on Draco, admiring the cut of his jacket as it hugged his shoulders. He may have made some terrible life choices, but at least Draco still had good taste. Well, in clothes anyway. Nott wanted to feel the edge of the lapel, to appreciate the fabric between his fingers and see the workmanship that went into the tailoring.

As he imagined the touch of the suit, the phantom feeling of Draco's shoulder rising against his palm sent a warm path through his arm. Exquisite tailoring was no match for the body that lay underneath, and suddenly the careless thought of appreciating the silk of Draco's jacket turned into a fantasy of ripping the jacket off, silk be damned. Nott pushed his knuckles into his thighs, reminding himself that perhaps he should pay attention to the conference after all. But all attempts to hear Potter's response to the latest question failed. Nott was still transfixed on the notion of Draco's bare chest, a cascade of memories from hotel room trysts helping him to weave a more vivid set of images in his mind. If only someone would turn the heat on at the conference, anything to force Draco to remove his clothing.

What it would be like to be on his knees right now, taking Draco's warm, hard cock into his mouth. Nott licked his lips, almost hoping in delirium that the taste of having Draco so intimately would still be there after all these years. This thought process was fast leading to an urgent physical issue. Nott quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped. And as he began to run his hand up and down his erection, a particularly undignified image of viewing Draco's lap from underneath the press conference table became prominent.

It was all in his head now, he knew that, but it was so good. He was running his hands up and down Draco's thighs, smirking at the tightened muscles in Draco's legs as he ran his hands closer and closer to the zipper. The metal was biting against his fingers, but it was well worth the hiss it earned from Draco. He was trying to torture Draco now, using only one saliva-coated finger to follow the veins that twisted along the length of Draco's cock. He was feeling Draco's entire lower body tense up, hearing the normal pace of Draco's breath become faster and more shallow. He was wrapping his hand around the rigid shaft and laving his tongue around the tip. He was tasting Draco's cock for the first time in ages, and it felt so good. Draco was trying to hide what was going on, was trying to still his features so they did not show a hint of what was happening. And Nott was doing this, was doing this all to Draco—all because he could.

Nott groaned out loud, still imagining what it would be like to play with Draco like that, to see him try to maintain a straight face while the cameras flashed and Harry sat next to him, unaware of what was going on. Or maybe Potter knew. Maybe he was watching. As much as Nott didn't want to give credence to the possibility of Harry Potter as a viable, sexual human being, the thought of him watching pitifully as Nott continued to suck off Draco was an appealing one.

His gaze was so focused in its lust that he had effectively blocked out the unnecessary presence of everyone else at the conference. He could watch the stream later, he could listen to the trivialities of what was said another time—but this could not wait. He was running his hands down his erection faster, the fantasy filling him with a need to taste, to feel. He was so close. So close, and then—

There is no discernible sound attached to blood leaving an erection, at least not that a standard human can hear. But if there was, it would sound an awful lot like Vernon Dursley appearing out of nowhere, huffing and puffing across the screen, and then his gruff voice announcing, "I lied. All that stuff I said in that article—I lied."

So close.

 

*****

 

Vernon Dursley was not a busy man.

He was rarely a busy man, though if you asked him, he would insist that his day was occupied with a number of important tasks that could only be trusted with someone of his drill expertise. Still, this morning was a particularly non-busy morning. That's often the side effect of being fired.

He had certainly not woken up expecting the day to unfold as it had. He had woken up at 7:30 AM expecting a perfectly standard day, rolling out of bed to brush his teeth. At 7:45 AM, he put on the clothes that Petunia had laid out for him the night before. By 8:00 AM, he was in the kitchen while Petunia fluttered around him, setting out his breakfast and running a comb through his hair. And at 8:30 AM, after barely comprehending Petunia's reminder that they were to have dinner with the Jordans that night, he got into his car and drove off to work. There he sat, awaiting his orders with all his usual pretensions of business.

But there were no orders.

Perhaps the higher ups were giving him a reward, he decided after thirty minutes of waiting. He was, after all, very important to the company. Vital. Completely and totally not expendable. His type of work required skill and finesse, or so he told everyone. In reality, his job could be accomplished by a parrot equipped with enough phrases to last a five-minute conversation. But he didn't know that. No, as far as Vernon Dursley was concerned, his daily schedule was of the utmost importance. Without him, the entire economy could collapse due to a shortage of drills. Or even an overabundance! Think of the catastrophe that could ensue if there were drills everywhere, roaming the streets like hooligans. Not that drills could move of course. That was ridiculous, and Vernon Dursley was not a ridiculous man, even if he was all that stood between the world and drill-induced chaos.

But even brave guardians of the status quo need a break. Perhaps his bosses had noted how many hours he had invested in wining and dining potential accounts. Surely, they must be impressed. The accounts may have fallen through, but it was hardly his fault that one of the Petunia's cakes had fallen off the table and splattered all over the guests.

So while it was a bit unorthodox (and Vernon was anything but unorthodox), he was quite willing to believe that his lack of obligations that day had to do with what he considered an exemplary work ethic. He decided to enjoy his reward to the fullest, settling down for an early lunch at his desk. Petunia always packed an exceptional meal, and today was no different. A magnificent sandwich sat wrapped before him. It was a marvelous day for such a fine specimen of bread, meat, and toppings. He was just about to bite when a loud knock shocked him into dropping the sandwich, leaving a sad display of bread and meat scattered on his desk as a few pieces slid onto the floor in a bleak application of gravity.

The door opened before Vernon had a chance to invite the person in. It was one of the interns, of course. This younger generation had no concept of proper knocking etiquette. The boy stared at the mess, but he did not look nearly as apologetic as Vernon would have liked. Instead, he just offered a curt, "Mr. Curtis wants to see you."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Well, did he say what it was about?"

"No. But he says he wants to talk to you immediately. It seems pretty important."

Of course it was important, he wanted to tell the intern. He was Vernon Dursley. He didn't get summoned for unimportant things. No, he got called for only the greatest of tasks. He took a napkin from a drawer and wiped off the mayonnaise that had fallen onto his pants. There was still a slight stain, but he was sure it was hardly noticeable.

He whistled cheerfully down the hallway, his mind brimming with ideas of what he might be rewarded with. A raise would be nice. He could brag about it to the Jordans tonight, maybe look into a new car this weekend. Or maybe they were giving him a new and improved office to reflect his stature in the company. It wasn't quite as nice as a raise, but it would be a start. He wondered if he could get a nice desk, one of those proper mahogany ones that always seemed to be paired with a dashing portrait of the desk owner on the wall.

But the look on his boss' face did not suggest mahogany desks. No, when Vernon first walked into the room, the first thing his boss did was fixate on the spot where the mayonnaise had been.

"Something wrong with your pants, Dursley?" he asked briskly.

"Er…no, sir. Just a little accident. One of the interns surprised me while I was eating lunch." The stern look he was being given made it difficult for Vernon to keep an even pitch. "Um…you called me?"

"Yes. Sit down." Vernon sat down at the invitation, still clinging to the hope that this was his boss' way of showering him with respect and admiration. "Well," Mr. Curtis shifted in his own seat. "You're fired."

Okay, Vernon reasoned when he was done in the office, maybe it was all a joke. Maybe they were going to come out and tell him that they were actually planning to send him on a trip to Majorca. This was just their way of surprising him. Yes, that had to be it. Why would they just fire him after so many years of outstanding service? He was going to go along with it though, he decided. Loudly throwing his things into a box, he grumbled jovially about all the years he'd worked at the Grunnings. He took his time, ensuring that his boss would be spared the embarrassment of running after him to let him know that he wasn't fired after all. But the only person who came in was another young intern who asked when he would be done because someone else was hoping to take measurements of the room for redecorating purposes.

Before he turned off his computer, a small red flag towards the bottom of the screen alerted Dursley that he had a new email. He didn't recognize the sender name, and he was about to dismiss it as spam when he read the email subject.

"Do you want your job back?"

Yes, yes he did. Enough to turn to an email of unknown origin. He had no desire to tell his friends that he had been fired. He didn't want to have to find a new job. He didn't want to have to parade through the halls of his office with all his belongings gathered in a box.

But when he read through the email, he knew he didn't want to do that either. So he did the only logical thing a man in his position could do. He went home to talk to his wife.

But the Malfoy Corporation lawyers had gotten there first. Seated on the sedate navy cushions that lined the couch, a man and woman were both wearing grey suits whose superb stitching seemed to lend more intricate details than the color would suggest. There were teacups on the coffee table, but judging from the still dark liquid, neither of them had touched their cups. Petunia was sitting across from them, her right leg shaking nervously as she stared between them.

As soon as Vernon walked into the room, Petunia turned to him and asked, "Is it true? What they're saying—have you been fired?" She was speaking frantically, the frequency rendering her pitch higher than normal. And then, her sharp eyes seeing past his attempts to cover up the mayonnaise stain, "What happened to your pants?"

Before he could answer, the woman in the stern grey suit stood up and stared him down. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that accentuated her sharp features, and the look she gave Vernon suggested no generosity. The first word Vernon thought when he saw her was, "crisp." The second word was, "terrifying."

"Vernon Dursley," she said, her voice carrying the same matter-of-factness as her clothing. "You received our email, I presume?"

Vernon tried to puff himself up, sticking out his chest with some pride to hide his desperation. "Yes, I did. And I want to know just what kinds of tricks you're pulling to find out this information. I could get you arrested for this!" That probably wasn't true, but Vernon had often relied on this sort of tactic during fights with grocery store cashiers and waiters.

"We can hardly divulge our sources," the man on the couch said calmly. "We're merely here to find out your decision."

Petunia was looking more nervous than ever. "So you really have been fired," she said, her eyes wide with worry.

"Don't worry, Petunia, I'll take care of this."

"But why did they fire you?"

"They said something about my work not being good enough," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Dursley, we don't have time for a full rundown of the morning's events. We need you to make a decision quickly."

"You can't make me say that stuff," he said adamantly, remembering the email that had brought him home in the first place. "You don't have that kind of power."

"You'd be surprised by the kind of power we have."

Petunia looked back at him. "Vernon, what's going on?" she asked nervously.

"How do I even know you'll keep your promise?"

The woman's nostrils flared. "We don't make promises," she said. "We make deals. And if you hold up your end, we'll hold up ours."

"You'll get me my old job back?"

"Yes."

"And if I don't?"

"I think it's pretty straightforward, Mr. Dursley. If you don't get to the press conference within the next thirty minutes and announce that everything you said in that interview was a lie, you won't get your job back." There was a small gasp from Petunia when the lawyer paused. "And that thirty minutes is a strict deadline. If you do not speak at the press conference, we will not help you get your job back."

"But can't I just do it in a newspaper? Why do I have to do it where people can see me?"

"Those are simply the terms of the deal. If you don't like it, I'm sure you can find another job quickly enough." Then, turning to the other lawyer, the two shared a smile. "Or maybe not."

"Petunia," he began meekly. "What should I do?"

"We can't tell people that we lied," she whispered urgently. "What will they say?"

"I'm sure everyone will also know that your husband's been fired when you have to sell your car and hold a garage sale to bargain off your good china," the crisp woman said. Petunia's back straightened at the mention of her good china. "But," the lawyer added with a smirk, "I suppose that's only important if you worry about what other people say."

 

*****

 

It wasn't the most novel gambit in the world, but it was something. At the very least, it had left Nott with the withered remains of what had once been a promising erection. Even if he'd overdosed on Viagra, he doubted that his hard-on would have lasted the sight of Vernon Dursley grumbling nervously across the stage in that cheap assembly of fabric that some people might call a suit.

This was obviously all Draco's doing. It was obvious in that trace of a cocky grin, so faint that most people would chalk it up to an involuntary muscle spasm. Draco—even with his feigned shock and worry—Draco looked so very sure of what was going to happen. Nott sat back violently against his chair, banging his head into the soft cushion of his headrest. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," he said out loud, punctuating each declaration with another bang of his head. His phone was ringing, and when he picked it up, his secretary announced, "Rita Skeeter is calling."

His fist tightened, and he had to resist the urge to throw his phone out the window. "Tell her that I'm out."

"She said it's an emergency."

"Then she should call an ambulance."

"Should I tell her that?" It wouldn't be the first time Nott had sent a snarky reply via his secretary.

"No, no. Make something up. Tell her that I have an aunt in the hospital or something. It just has to be tragic enough that she doesn't call me again for a while."

Of course Skeeter wanted to talk to him. She always wanted to talk to someone, mostly so that she could find her way around their secrets. She was a pawn who thought herself a queen because she had the potential to wreak havoc. Queen or pawn though, Nott really didn't care. Both pieces are only as good as the player wielding them.

Still, it was best to minimize interactions with her at this point in time. He had no need for her and no desire to risk the possibility that she might gain some information about him or his business practices. She was probably just a bit upset right now. The primary interview that held up the most circulated article she had ever written was now worthless. But that's what all the other parts of the article were for. No one could deny Sirius Black's prison records. No one could deny Ginny Weasley's tendency towards scandal. And whatever Vernon Dursley said, Nott took great comfort in the predictable stupidity of the masses. There would be people who disregarded what had just happened. They would spin elaborate conspiracy theories about how Harry Potter was actually a drug smuggler who had learned the trade when he was eleven and was now living a life of thinly disguised debauchery. Anything, really, would be more interesting than the truth, and that was enough damage for now.

Even now, as Nott scrolled through the latest comments appearing on his screen, there were capslocked insults being thrown around as commenters argued about the likelihood that Malfoy Corporation had threatened the Dursley family with imminent death if Vernon didn't retract the interview. Several people swore that Lucius Malfoy had an army of assassins stashed away in his mansion should the need arise to use them. Their most vocal opposition insisted that Lucius didn't need human assassins when he had obviously devised some sort of satellite that could roam over the Earth and send fatal laser beams into targets of Lucius' choosing. Ah, if only such technology existed. It would make Nott's life so much easier.

He drummed his fingers along the desk, contemplating his next move, but an alert on his computer reminded him that he had a conference call in fifteen minutes. Sighing, he zipped up his pants and closed the browser window that now showed only a black box where the stream had been. Scheming would have to wait.

A myriad of mindless and frustrating tasks kept him occupied for a while; maintaining an empire couldn't always be plots and games. He came back to the office several hours later, yawning as he opened the door. His secretary looked at him as if she was about to say something, but she just smiled, adjusted her glasses, and started typing again. He was still mid-yawn when he entered his room, so he didn't see the other figure for several seconds.

Draco was sitting on the couch, his legs crossed as he perused through a financial magazine with Nott's face emblazoned on its cover. He didn't look up when Nott entered, only turned the page and smirked at the two-page spread of Nott interacting with some workers. "I like this interview," he said. "The part where you say that your favorite part of the job is talking to your employees and seeing the proud smiles on their faces was especially sweet."

Nott stayed where he was, assessing the room for any potential threats. "We were about to get rid of nine hundred workers. I figured it was good preemptive PR to pretend that I would be sad about it."

"When you say things like, 'Get rid of,' it almost sounds like you had them killed."

"If only. Then I wouldn't have to worry about severance packages." Finally assured that there were no hidden gunmen stashed away, Nott strolled across the room to the small table that held a small selection of scotch. He poured himself a glass and took a sip, savoring the burning spice as it washed down his throat. Then, remembering his manners, he turned to Draco and held up a glass. "Would you like one?"

Draco stared at him, his eyes cold despite the smile on his lips. "No thanks. But I think it's adorable how you've fashioned yourself after a Bond villain. All you need is a furry white cat to stroke and your villainy will go unquestioned."

"And I think it's adorable how you've fashioned yourself after a little lapdog," Nott retorted, walking towards Draco and settling down on the armchair opposite him. "Did Potter let you off your leash today?"

"That's cute coming from someone who's so whipped that he's turned to reporters to carry out his romantic vendettas."

"Whipped?" Nott said, his voice rising in pitch as if he were outraged. "Surely, you can't be talking about me. I don't even know what reporter you're talking about."

Draco relaxed, his arms resting imperiously on the sides of his char. "No, no, of course not. Jealousy is too banal for a man like you. You have to make sure your temper tantrums threaten to undermine segments of the business world."

"Anything less would just be half-assed," Nott teased. He shook the scotch around in his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl at the bottom. "But surely you didn't come here to seek confirmation of what you already know."

"Of course not."

He looked over the top of his glass before taking another sip. "I hope you don't think that stunt you pulled this morning will be enough."

"I'm not one for half-assed plots either." Draco's voice was satin, the even tone stroking at Nott with all the danger of a noose.

Nott could play that game. He kept his face placid, his words calm. "What'd you do to get Dursley up there? Promise him some stain remover for whatever it was on his pants?"

"We've got friends at Grunnings. They were more than eager to intervene on our behalf."

"That's clever," Nott said flatly.

Draco reached out and grabbed the glass from Nott's hand, taking a long sip before handing it back. When he looked up again, Nott was surprised to see that Draco was frowning. "It wasn't really that clever, and you know it. It was a quick fix, and I was too rushed to make it good. I was a bit worried that he wasn't going to show."

There was a faint mark on the glass where Draco's lips had been. Nott stared at it as he asked, "But why would you even care? Why do all this on behalf of Potter of all people?"

"I'm not here on Harry's behalf," Draco said softly, leaning over to wipe the mark off the glass so that all that was left an almost invisible streak. "I'm here because I want to see you hurt."

"And you think that surprising me in my office is going to hurt?"

"No, but it seems only fair that I give you warning. You warned me after all." He shifted his weight so that he was leaning mostly to the right. A sly grin crossed his face. "Can I ask you a…private question?"

"Those are always my favorite questions," Nott answered sarcastically.

Draco bit his lips in a gesture of shyness. It would have been endearing if it were remotely genuine, but Nott appreciated the gesture when Draco asked, "Were you jerking off during the conference?

""Jerking off?" Nott timed his breath to mimic questioning innocence. "That's a bit crude, isn't it?"

Draco laughed, clearly recognizing Nott's failure to answer the question. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said playfully. "I'd hate to accuse you of something crude. Let me rephrase: were you _making love_ to your right hand during the conference?"

Well, there was no point in denying it. Nott was an exceptional liar, but there are different lies, and this one would be less fun to maintain. "You know me so well."

Draco uncrossed his legs in a slow motion that made Nott uneasy. "Of course I do," he said in a low, cruel tone. "I made a bet with Harry about it. He said that no one would be that pathetic, but I assured him that you were."

"Harsh words," was all Nott could think to get out.

"Yes, well, I earned a blow job out of it. So I supposed I must thank you for your predictable, pathetic ways."

"I hardly think you two are in a position to call me pathetic," he replied pointedly.

"Quite frankly, I don't care what you call us," Draco snapped. "I asked you to leave Harry out of this, and you didn't listen."

"Surely you couldn't think that I would take that as anything other than bait."

"Listen to me, Nott." There was a slight rustling sound as Draco leaned forward, his elbows resting into his thighs. "You will regret this."

'What are you going to do to me?" Nott taunted. "Blackmail me? You don't know my secrets anymore." A wonderful thought dawned on Nott, and though he knew it wouldn't explain Draco's presence, it was fun to tease all the same. "Are you trying to seduce me to get my secrets? Is that what this little visit is about?"

"If I wanted to seduce you, you'd already be on your back, spilling your secrets and begging for more."

Nott shrugged, and then grinned in agreement. Credit where it's due and all that. "So why haven't you done it yet?"

"Because I find the idea of touching you a bit repulsive."

"Ooh, 'pathetic,' 'repulsive,'—you're really throwing out the three-syllable insults out today. Don't tell me that you're still clinging to the delusion that you owe Potter some sort of emotional attachment."

"It's far less frightening than the delusion that you seem to be clinging to."

"And what delusion would that be?"

"That I need you."

"You did though," Nott reminded him sweetly. "At your parents' house. Don't you remember? Don't you remember how sweet it was to see Harry's face that night, when he walked in on us?" The anger that twisted Draco's face was almost comical. "Oh, don't be so sensitive. If you were in your right senses, you would laugh too," he scolded. "You're not going to threaten me again, are you?"

"Why would I need to threaten you when I already know that I'm going to destroy you?"

"You'd do that for him?" But Draco said nothing, only stared determinedly at Nott. "Tell me, what is it about him that makes you so gallant, so ready to serve and protect?"

Silence.

"Is it his dick? It must be massive."

Silence.

"Or wait, is it—"

But Draco interrupted him. "You know what I like about Harry?"

"Please, explain."

"He isn't you. He isn't a craven shell of a man who has to deal in stealth because he's too afraid to confront the real world."

"That's quite a diagnosis," Nott said dismissively.

"Don't think to take me off guard by playing casual. I care too little about you to worry if my words have had an impact."

"But Harry—you care about him?"

"I don't need to explain my feelings for Harry to you."

"You love him, don't you?" It came out as more a joking snarl than a question. "That's why you're doing all of this."

"You attacked a Malfoy," Draco answered, just a bit too casually for it to be true. "We defend our own."

"Bullshit. Your dad would be here if that were the important factor at play."

"My reasons are irrelevant."

It was so obvious, so clear in the slight pink that tinged across Draco's cheeks. "Oh shit," Nott laughed. "You really are in love with him. And you think you're going to beat me, what, because love will find a way?"

"Oh, Nott, no, no. Don't be so silly. Love has nothing to do with why I'm going to beat you." The pink disappeared; replaced by an old look of cruelty that Nott had missed so much. But that grin, which had always hinted at something evil coming soon—it was strange to be on the receiving end, frightening even. "I'm going to beat you because I'm better than you. And I'm going to destroy you because it'll be fun."

"Is that what you came to tell me?" Nott asked, refusing to show any reaction. "Or did you come for something else?"

But Draco just stood up and stretched, like a cat that—once perturbed—had no desire to approach your lap again. "It was nice seeing you, Nott," he said, grabbing his jacket and slinging it over his arm. "I hope to never have to do it again." Then, without turning back, he walked away.

Nott watched him leave, analyzing each step as if they might give some clue as to why Draco had come. As soon as the door closed, he stood up and began to search around the room without knowing what he was looking for. There had to be something, something that would give away why Draco had stopped by. But as the silence grew, interrupted only by the sounds of his frantic investigation, the room felt emptier and emptier. It was only him. Only him and his frustration and anger as he remembered that Draco Malfoy had been here—Draco Malfoy had sat on his couch and mocked him while failing to see just what Nott was doing for him.

He stood at his desk, surveying his office as he considered his next move. It wouldn't do to dwell on this meeting. He needed to focus, needed to come up with a new plan and implement it quickly. And he couldn't do that if he wasted his time on some useless sense of hurt.

He was, after all, a busy man.


	19. Chapter 19

“We can’t do anything about it, Harry,” Draco repeated for the fifth time, idly twisting strands of Harry’s hair into sloppy braids that he then combed undone with his fingers. The sun had been up for several hours, and they really should have left the bed by this point, but the prospect of unwinding from each other and coming out from under the blankets seemed far too daunting.

Harry raised his head, ruining Draco’s handiwork. “But you heard what he said last night!” he said earnestly, his green eyes vivid with concern. His palm was resting lightly on Draco’s chest, issuing a comforting heat that seemed to spread through the rest of Draco’s body. 

“Yes, I did.” Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him in closer, letting Harry’s forehead rest against his neck. “And it’ll be okay.”

“How is it going to be okay? He said that he’s going to pull money away from your funding, He can’t just do that!”

“Of course he can. He’s got connections, and he knows how to use them to manipulate my school’s administration. I would do the same thing if I were him.”

Harry’s hand slid across Draco’s chest and down his shoulder. His thumb began to sketch idle circles along Draco’s bicep, creating a soothing trace that made Draco’s entire body relax as he wrapped a leg around Harry’s firm thigh. “It’s not like we don’t have connections,” Harry reminded him. “Why don’t we use them?”

“Harry, as much as I appreciate you coming to my aid, just stop thinking like a hero and think like a person who actually wins things for a change.”

“I’ve won tons of things.”

“That’s nice, darling.”

Harry pulled back and gave Draco a confused stare. “Did you just call me ‘darling’?”

“I’m trying this thing where I temper my sarcasm with terms of endearment,” Draco explained, patting Harry on the head with a broad grin plastered across his face.

“Aha. How kind of you,” Harry retorted as he ducked his head away. “Sweetie.”

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle. “If only you could apply such cleverness to the matter at hand,” he replied, lightly kissing the thin scar on Harry’s forehead.

They stayed in silence for several minutes, enjoying the restful rhythm of each other’s breathing. Harry’s eyelashes were fluttering against Draco’s neck, his cheeks a soft caress against Draco’s collarbone. “Look, Draco,” he finally said. “I’m not trying to be stupid. I know that we can’t do anything because if we do react to what we heard, Nott will know that we’ve got a bug in his office. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. When all of this is done, I’ll get my funding back. Nott’s just acting like a bratty kid who kicks walls when he doesn’t get the pink lemonade lollipop he wants.” 

“Pink lemonade lollipop? That’s a bit specific to not be a real story.”

“He was five at the time,” Draco confirmed. “The candy store banned him after that tantrum, so his parents bought it for him.”

“The lollipop?” Harry asked. Then, catching on to Draco’s meaning, his eyes widened and shone with incredulity. “Oh, you mean the store? They gave a store to a five year old?”

“I think they expected it to be like pretend for him while someone else ran it for real. But Nott’s megalomania is at its worst when he thinks he’s playing a game. His first course of action was to abolish all cherry nougats from the store.”

“That sounds like the most generous thing he’s done for the world.”

Draco shook his head as he recalled more of Nott’s foray into the candy business. “Then Christmas came, and he discovered that the Santa in the store wasn’t real. He threatened to use all the employees as part of his army to take over the North Pole so they could find the real Santa. I think that’s when his parents decided to fire him.”

“It doesn’t seem like he’s learned much since then,” Harry grumbled, the words muffled against Draco’s skin.

“Don’t be discouraged, Harry. You know that we’re going to take him down.”

“I know. I’m just…worried.”

“You should be. We both know that Nott won’t stop with this. But I think that if we lay low and pretend that we haven’t heard anything he’s said, he’s going to get complacent.”

“I can’t really see Nott as complacent.”

“He’s confident to a fault,” Draco explained. “He forgets that he isn’t indestructible.”

“He’s going to refuse to sign the contract next, isn’t he?” Harry guessed. “It’s the only thing that makes sense to me after he’s been so cagey about whether or not he’s going to agree to the deal.”

Draco bit his lip, considering Harry’s prediction. “It’s in line with his style: reckless displays of power for the sake of widespread damage. He’ll let his company take a hit from the loss of business just to prove that he’s the one in control.”

“I guess we haven’t heard him say anything about it over the bug though,” Harry noted.

Draco felt a little bad for having to temper the hope in Harry’s voice, but it was important that Harry know what he was getting into. “It’ll come. He’s been focused on me ever since we had our little chat. I think he wants to hurt me more than you right now. But once he’s gotten this little funding thing out of his system, I’m betting that he’ll move back to you.”

“Oh. Goody.”

“We’ll get him though. We’ve heard enough to get this plan started, and we’re going to find out more. The closer Nott gets to thinking he’s beaten us, the lazier he’s going to become. That’s why it’s so important that we don’t do anything right. We have to wait until the right moment comes along.”

“I hate waiting,” Harry groaned. “How do you do this patience thing?” He closed his eyes as he rolled off Draco, pressing his hand to his forehead. He began tapping his fingers over the scar in a strange gesture that Draco took to indicate exasperation.

“Well,” Draco said, lifting himself off the bed so he could straddle Harry’s hips. The blankets pooled behind him as he shot a devilish grin and lowered his lips to Harry’s abdomen. “I’ve often found that distractions help."

*****

We’re just biding our time. We’re just biding our time. Harry repeated the mantra in his head as he stared down the table, trying to reassure himself that the frustrated faces looking back would have some faith in him. Draco had already lost funding, and he’d just lost his contract—just as they had anticipated. But no amount of preparation had made Harry ready to face the people who trusted him and who he could tell nothing to. Lucius had called this meeting as an emergency measure, well aware of the fact that there would be many doubts concerning Harry’s ability.

“Why haven’t you fired him yet?” demanded one of the younger men. His question was directed towards Lucius. “Harry’s failed us again and again!”

“Really?” Lucius replied with a demonstrative calm. He was standing next to Harry, his hand resting on the back of the chair he would usually sit on. Despite the appearance of ease, he seemed postured for battle as he drummed his fingers along the leather. “How has Harry failed you?”

“You read the paper,” said the same man. Harry recognized him as Kevin Grant, a ruthless employee of the company who had managed to rise quickly through the ranks thanks to a remarkable talent for ass-kissing. “Harry’s been letting Nott string us along for weeks, and now they’ve turned down our contract. The contract that should have been no big deal for Harry to get them to sign. We look like idiots because of him!”

There was a tense silence after the outburst. Every individual looked at Lucius with a worried sense of doubt, unsure of the best way to demonstrate their loyalty. They tapped pens and fiddled with their phones as they waited for Lucius to say something, anything, that would reassure them.

“We’ve suffered a mild setback,” Lucius said placidly, “but it’s only a temporary one.”

“Doesn’t seem temporary to me,” Kevin grumbled. He had crossed his arms, his face still too young to look like he was doing anything more mature than pouting. 

“If you continue speaking out of turn, Mr. Grant, any setback you personally experience might become a bit more permanent.” There was a smoothness in Lucius’ tone that made the words sound venomous. His features expressed little emotion, but that was probably the point—to demonstrate to Grant, and anyone else who might agree with him, that his departure would be an easy one for Lucius to arrange should the need arise.

Grant didn’t look at Lucius, but his lips tightened as he cast a malevolent glare Harry’s way. 

“I know that you’re all disappointed in this situation,” Harry said, sensing the need to assert himself. Everything Grant said was right, after all Harry couldn’t let Lucius be the only voice that spoke up for him. “And I know that you’re all disappointed in me. I’m sorry. But I’m addressing the situation.”

A man in the back raised his hand. “How?” he asked when Harry acknowledged him. 

Harry began reciting the list of measures he was taking, hoping they would be enough to demonstrate his leadership. “We’re focusing on building up what other assets we can to make up for the loss of the contract. The DE Company isn’t the only one that can provide the parts we need, and there are plenty of companies that would be willing to have the sort of deal with us that they did.”

“But DE is the best.” Grant had raised his head again, the scolding from several minutes ago having already lost its effect. “Our products sell so well because people trust the product to be good. And our products are good because of DE.”

“Our products are good because we make them good,” Harry shot back. Grant seemed a little taken aback by the stern authority in Harry’s tone. But more importantly, the words seemed to resonate with the rest of the table. “And they’ll continue to be good because we’ll make them better.” 

“Not without raising the prices or reducing our profits,” Grant retorted. He was staring desperately around the table, probably looking for supporters who would help him with his argument. A few people nodded their heads at him in agreement, though Harry could hardly blame them. He had his reasons for staying quiet about what his plan really was, but it would still be stupid of his employees to blindly trust him.

“I assure you that we will not have to worry about either of those outcomes.” 

“How can you assure us of that?” Grant’s voice was getting louder as he slammed his fist on the table. “How can we just trust you to get this right after getting it wrong this whole time.”

“Because he has a plan, and I trust him,” Lucius replied. He had the mask of fierce calm that he usually wore when on the verge of something dangerous. “While you are free to disagree with me, I think I’ve worked here long enough to have some sense of what this business needs. And I think Harry is very smart to keep his plans to himself.”

“In a meeting with employees from his own company?”

“I’m not so convinced all of you are working for this company.” The words were spoken generally, but Lucius’ sharp eyes were focused on Grant, whose face had turned a bright red as the quiet accusation in Lucius’ words sunk in. “Just because I’ve entertained your presence here for this meeting doesn’t mean that I don’t know who paid for your new Mercedes.”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? You don’t know who paid for your car? How embarrassing. We’ve been letting you stay here for months so we can follow your movements and learn more about how DE likes to use informants. Otherwise, we would have fired you when we first found out that you were working for DE.”

“That’s preposterous!” Grant was practically sputtering his denial. He looked from person to person around the table, trying to find an ally amongst them. But Harry could see them considering the possibility that Grant would be the sort of sneaky, self-serving type who would spy on them. Based on their unsurprised face, it was apparent that the odds were not looking good for Grant. Harry himself felt little surprise at Lucius’ revelation. Grant’s odiousness made more sense in the context of corporate espionage.

Lucius stopped drumming his fingers on the chair, and his neck straightened like a snake poised to strike. “You’re not the first corporate spy we’ve dealt with. Don’t insult our intelligence by trying to pretend that the sudden spike in your bank account over the past few months was due to a miraculous burst in competence.”

Grant stood up abruptly, though he stayed quiet as everyone stared at him, until after several seconds of heavy breathing, he tried to sprint for the door. A loud chaos ensued as several security guards blocked his exit, and Grant was forced to duck and weave through them to try and make it to the door. As everyone’s attention shifted to the now ranting and screaming Grant, Harry realized that Lucius had just won him a temporary relieve—and that had probably been the point of this meeting all along.

When the commotion had died down, the discussion of what to do regarding Nott continued. Fortunately, the intensity of the conversation had gone down significantly after the climax of Grant’s departure. When the conversation was done and the room had emptied, Harry turned to Lucius. “Thank you.” It didn’t seem necessary to specify the cause for his gratitude.

Lucius smiled, but then said, “Don’t thank me yet. I only invited him today because it seemed like a good time to expose him, and I thought you could use the distraction. But that doesn’t excuse your failure to act so far.” Harry nodded to show that he understood. “I know that Nott has a vendetta against you, and that vendetta is not your fault, but you won’t be able to maintain your position here if you don’t do anything. I think you have about a week to fix this before they start seriously questioning your position here. After that, I won’t be able to do much more to help you. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Do you really comprehend what’s at stake?” Lucius asked more insistently.

“I do. I can lose my job.”

“Not just your job, Harry,” Lucius said, looking far more troubled than he had during the meeting. “You could lose Draco. There are some things that are out of my hand. This company’s charter is one of them, and so is the way we decide who inherits the company.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly. “I’ve been trying not to think about that.” 

“Well.” Lucius patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure Draco has made up plans for you two to elope as a worst case scenario.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush. Draco had in fact come up with a back-up plan, though he still hadn’t told Harry just where they would run off to for their hypothetical emergency marriage. “I—“ he started to say, trying to come up with the best response to an accusation of elopement that came from both his boss and future father-in-law.

Lucius held up his hand to stop Harry. “No, no. Don’t tell me. It’s better if I don’t know. And,” he stated more soberly, “it’s better if you don’t act like you have a back-up plan. You need to fix this, and you need to do it soon.”

*****

Harry had scheduled a meeting with Nott at the end of the week. The days leading up to it had been painful, complete with news articles that questioned his role in the company and a continued sense that he was disappointing his own employees. This meeting was Harry’s last shot. They were gathered in the conference room he had sat in when Draco had betrayed Crabbe and Goyle. The difference now was that Lucius was sitting off to the side, a silent audience to the procedure as Harry took over from the hefty chair that marked the head of the table. 

“I don’t know why you called us here,” Nott said imperiously from the other side of the room, sharing a mocking glance with the few associates he brought with him. “I have a lot of work to do, Potter. I don’t have time to waste with people I don’t intend to do business with.”

“I just thought I would ask you one last time to reconsider,” Harry explained coolly. “Our company’s have a long history of working closely together. It seems sad to end the relationship so suddenly.“

Nott picked at his fingernails, wearing every indication of boredom in his eyes as he said dully, “I’ve gotten over it.”

“Is there anything we can do to make you reconsider?” Harry injected enough desperation in his voice to try and pique Nott’s interest.

The slow smile on Nott’s face seemed to suggest that Harry was succeeding. “I’m not sure,” he replied, though a sharp gleam in his eye indicated the birth of some interest.

“Really? I’m giving you carte blanche to make any demands that you’d like.”

“Any demands?”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed, wondering how much of his nerves was audible in his voice.

Nott considered him with the most warmth he had ever shown Harry, though it left a cold knot in the pit of Harry’s stomach. “I like the scent of desperation on you.” Nott’s self-satisfied grin was in full effect now. “It suits you.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Hm,” said Nott with a casualness most would reserve for choosing a take-out restaurant. “I’d like $20 million per year added to the cost of business.”

“That’s about four times what we currently pay you,” Harry reminded him with a tone of surprise.

“Make it $30 million then.”

“Fine.” He made a note on the contract Nott had previously refused to sign.

“Fine? Really?” Nott frowned, slightly taken aback by the lack of fight. “Well then,” he said more cautiously, “I’d like 20% of your stock.”

“Okay.” Harry made another note.

“No, not just any stock. Your stock specifically, Potter.”

Harry glanced up as he continued writing. “I understood you the first time.”

“Great. I’m glad we’re on the save wavelength.”

“Is that all you want?”

“I’m sure I can think of some more demands,” Nott said idly, “but they’ll be silly little things like making me a member of your board and giving me a corner office in your building to work out of.”

“Right. Silly little things” Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “And is that all it will take to appease you?”

“Yes.”

Harry looked over the notes he had made and then passed the paper across the table. “Are you ready to sign?”

Nott picked up a pen and began scanning through the page. He stopped periodically to add some notes—further demands, most likely—looking happier and happier as he reached the bottom. He seemed poised and ready to sign the contract, his pen ready at the line. Harry could feel his heart pounding as he watched the pen form a small dot of ink on the paper. Then, a smirk began to grow on Nott’s face, and with a decisive finality, he let go of the pen and leaned away from the table. “You know, I change my mind.”

“Do you?” Harry replied, unsurprised at the action. He was counting on it.

“Please don’t take it personally, Potter,” Nott said with no attempt to feign sympathy as he pushed the contract back towards Harry. “I’m sure that when your board fires you, you’ll find a good job as an accountant somewhere.” 

Harry looked over the blank spot. He felt a sudden burst of adrenaline through him as he acknowledged what he was about to say. “You know, I was going to say the same thing about you.”

“Excuse me?” Nott raised an eyebrow, though he attempted to cover up the rest of his surprise by crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair.

“I mean, you’ll be out of job by the time this meeting is over,” Harry continued, his nerves firing excitedly throughout his body as he felt the threads of everything he and Draco had been working on come together. “But with your skills, I’m sure you’ll find a job somewhere.”

“I don’t think you quite understand what’s happening here, Potter.” There was an irate edge breaking through Nott’s usual level tone. “I’ve just refused your contract. I heard from a little birdy that your board has told you that in the case of that happening, you will lose your job. Well, everything, actually. You’ll lose everything.” The point of Nott’s words were clear—Harry would lose Draco.

“At which point you will swoop in, changing your mind about the contract under the condition that the Malfoy Corporation names you heir?” Harry asked. He’d learned quite a lot from Kevin Grant over the past week. It was amazing what the threat of a lawsuit could do to get a man to talk. It was the same way that he had gotten Grant to give Nott an exaggerated view of just how precarious Harry’s position was. It was like Draco had said—Nott was confident to a fault. And Harry needed Nott to come into this meeting convinced of his own victory.

Nott shrugged. “I’ve been known to have a magnanimous spirit.”

“Really? Because if you asked me, the only reason for your generosity would be to force Draco to marry you.”

“I never said that my generosity came without an element of self-interest.” 

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Nott’s associates looked slightly alarmed at his outburst. Even Lucius shifted slightly in his seat.

“What’s so funny?” asked Nott, sounding angrier with every syllable.

Harry wiped a small tear away as he calmed down. “I was just thinking about how you’re going to regret being such a pompous bag of shit in ten minutes.”

“Potter, you’re trying to play games with the grown-ups when you’ve barely graduated out of the sandbox. You can’t scare me.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He merely pulled a small packet of paper out from his briefcase and handed it to Nott.

Nott read the first sentence and looked up, looking slightly less amused. “What is this?” But Harry didn’t say anything. Nott went back to reading the contents of the packet. The associates on either side of him didn’t look directly at the pages, but Harry could see them staring out of the corners of their eyes. Everyone else in the room craned their necks to try and get any hint they could of what Nott was looking at. By the time Nott had finished, his face had turned into a vivid semblance of a tomato, and his lips were tight with barely suppressed anger. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s an article that’s going to be published on The Quibbler by the end of the day,” Harry answered matter-of-factly, more for everyone else’s sake than for Nott’s. “They’re just waiting for my call to confirm some additional material.”

“The Quibbler?” The tension in Nott’s body suddenly dissipated as he laughed. “The blog run by that crazy Lovegood lady? Isn’t she the one who thinks that there’s some parallel magic world where people use wands to do everything for them?”

“She’s a college friend of mine,” Harry said patiently. “And The Quibbler has more readers in a day than Rita Skeeter used to get in a week.”

“Ah, Rita Skeeter.” Nott smiled, still nonplussed. “I wonder how she’s been doing.”

“Pretty well, actually. Seems like she’s been looking for one last shot at redemption.”

Nott glanced down at the byline. “Ah, so she’s the one who’s written all this? How kind of you.”

“Well, you’ve paid off most newspapers to not publish anything unflattering about you, so I had to resort to Plan Z. And she’s a little bitter about how you let her take the fall for that article about me.”

“Desperate strokes for desperate folks.” Nott tossed the article onto the table and then stretched his arms above his head. “This is cute, but it’s meaningless. You don’t have any proof for these claims.”

“I don’t?”

“I’ve never engaged in insider trading. All our manufacturers pay their factory workers a decent wage. And I’ve certainly never taken company funds for my own personal use.” Harry noticed that as Nott kept talking, one of his employees had grabbed the packet and started scanning through it.

“Really? Because that’s not what you said last week.”

“What are you talking about?”

Harry reached for a few files on his laptop. And with a simple press of a button, the litany of evidence began to fill the room. Nott’s voice was crystal clear in the recording. In one moment, he was having a conversation with the CEO of a prominent pharmaceutical company, learning the details of a failed clinical trial several weeks before the results would be published—just in time to sell his stock. The recording then cut to several phone conversations with manufacturers demanding that they resort to any measure—legal or not—to bring down the cost of production. As conversation after conversation passed by, Harry could see the disbelief in everyone’s eyes give way to a surprise that anyone would let themselves be recorded counting out the amount of money they could take from the company to fund their horse-betting habit.

“How…how…?” Nott stammered when the recording had stopped playing. The red in his face had shifted to a deathly pale color as Nott stared at Harry in fear. “But I checked the whole office after Draco left!”

Harry shrugged. “These just…showed up in my inbox one day,” he said innocently. “I had nothing to do with how they were acquired.”

“Right. I’m sure.”

“Though in the future, I think it’s a good idea to avoid angering people who have access to unreleased bugs that are too advanced for current state-of-the-art detection tools.”

Nott leaned over the table, his palms outstretched as he displayed the first signs of desperation. “You can’t let this get published.”

“Why shouldn’t I? After everything you’ve done?”

“I’ll sign the contract, okay?” pleaded Nott. His voice was rising in pitch, making him sound more and more like a teenager at odds with puberty.

“I’m not going to let you get out of this with just a formality of a contract that you should have signed weeks ago.”

“What do you want then?”

“I want you out.”

“What?”

“I want you out of your company. And,” Harry said, feeling his blood pound even harder with the prospect of success, “I want your job.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Can’t I though? I mean, this article is getting published, and you can’t spin your way out of it. But if you’re really so bitter about how our two companies aren’t getting merged together, I think I can offer a solution. You just don’t get to be a part of it.”

“If I’m going to be screwed either way,” Nott said softly, looking as if he were calculating his possible paths, “I have no incentive to hand over this company to you.”

“I can make things easier for you,” Harry offered. “Luna is just waiting for me to tell her when to press ‘post.’ But she doesn’t have to post anything. Not if you agree to our terms.”

“You think that you can just blackmail me, Potter?” 

“I mean, yeah.” Harry looked around the room as if this should be obvious. “I have hours worth of blackmail material. I think that places me in a good position to blackmail you.”

Nott sat back in aggravated silence, grinding his teeth audibly as he grabbed a pen and began boring the tip into a pad of paper. The employee next to him interrupted the quiet. “Just take the deal, Nott.”

“Shut it, Andrea. You’re not in charge.”

“No.” Andrea was one of the oldest executives at DE Company, having worked there for several decades. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun that matched her stern expression; and when she talked to Nott, Harry had the impression that she was scolding him with all the pent up rage of a nanny who has been forced to coddle an obnoxious charge. “You’ve kept us here for weeks to play some silly game with the Malfoy Corporation that’s cost us both time and money. Even today, Harry basically gave you the chance to do whatever you wanted, and you turned it down because you’re too selfish to see past your own delusions of grandeur. This should have been a short negotiation. I’m sick of this, and frankly, I’m sick of you. Your father was a much more capable leader.”

“Well,” Nott said casually when she was finished. “Andrea’s fired.” Andrea just rolled her eyes. She seemed to welcome the idea of no longer having Nott as her boss, whether or not that meant she was working for DE anymore.

“I think you should take the deal too,” said the man who had scanned through the article during the conversation earlier.

“Really, Thomas.” It wasn’t so much a question from Nott as it was an accusation.

“You’ve been taking money out of our accounts for months to pay for gambling and planes and cars, and then you have the gall to say that our company needs to cut back on employees so we can save money? You laid off 900 workers last month! This is ridiculous. I’d much rather have Harry as a boss than you.”

“And the rest of you? You’re all jumping ship too?” There was an awkward silence as everyone else who had come in with Nott shifted in their seats. No one spoke up for him though, and the distrust they held for him was clear in the stares they directed towards the article that was still laying on the table. Nott sighed in a gesture of defeat. “You promise that you won’t tell Luna to publish the article?”

“I promise.”

The rest of the meeting was dedicated to a very new contract, one that wiped the smugness out of Nott. When he had finished signing everything, Nott turned to Harry and said, “You wouldn’t be clever enough to do this even if you had The Art of War implanted in your brain. This has Draco’s scent all over it.”

“His scent?” Harry smirked. “That’s probably just because I’m wearing one of his shirts.” It was probably petty to take so much pleasure in the jealousy that flashed across Nott’s face, but the feeling was far too satisfying to deny.

As Nott was getting ready to leave, Harry and Lucius followed him down to the lobby. They were surprised to see a crowd assembled outside of the building, kept at bay with only the muscle of several burly security guards. A million flashes of light started as soon as Nott emerged from the elevator and into the view of the crowd. At once, the sound that emanated from outside seemed to double in volume, coming in so loud that Harry could hear the mangled mess of questions that made it through the thick windows.

Nott’s eyes were wide as soon as he realized that the chaos was meant for him. Turning to Harry, he screamed, “You promised!”

“I promised. Draco didn’t,” Harry noted harshly. “I guess you shouldn’t have tried to fuck with a grad student’s funding. They seem to take that personally.” Nott was staring at him with panic, but Harry could see him trying to scheme his way out of the predicament. “And before you think of trying to get back at us,” Harry continued, “you should think of all the things you’ve said in the past few weeks that aren’t getting published today. Draco so wants to release those tapes, but he isn’t because I made him promise not to. Just know this: if you do anything to Draco or me again, there won’t be a promise in the world that can save you from the rest of those tapes.”

The look that Nott shot back was probably supposed to be threatening, but it was ridiculous against the backdrop of public shame. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Nott,” Harry said, resuming an air of professionalism as he held out his hand. But he wasn’t surprised that Nott refused to shake it. “Well,” he added with a smirk that would make Draco proud, “it’ll be a pleasure taking over your business.”

*****

“You didn’t say that. You didn’t actually say that. Right?” Draco had just finished listening to Harry’s recount of the day’s events, and he was still skeptical of Harry’s final words to Nott.

“I said it,” Harry assured, leaning back on the couch as he took another celebratory sip of beer. 

Draco snorted, holding his hand over his mouth to prevent the loss of any of his drink. It was an oddly undignified moment for him, bringing a warmth to Harry’s smile as he felt the excitement, not just of victory, but of having Draco be a part of the victory.

When Draco had managed to regain his composure, he said, “I don’t give your balls nearly enough respect.”

“That’s easily fixable,” Harry said, pulling Draco on top of him so that their hips aligned on top of the cushions. He draped an arm around Draco’s waist, letting a palm rest against the small of Draco’s back. The sound of Draco’s sigh filled Harry’s body with a welcome peace, reminding him that amongst the worry of the past few weeks, they had salvaged themselves this moment of rest. 

“I wish I could’ve seen his face when he saw all the journalists,” Draco said. “It must have been priceless. I hear Nott’s under investigation now too, so even if he didn’t believe you when you told him about the other recordings, he’s going to be too busy to do anything about it for a while.”

“I almost felt bad for him.” Harry looked down to see Draco’s frightened stare. “Almost!” he repeated, laughing at Draco’s disgust over Harry’s brush with sympathy. “I mean, I did promise….”

“And you kept your promise,” Draco reminded him. “Don’t worry, your honor is still intact.”

“If only we could all have a morality as flexible as yours.”

“But see, doesn’t it feel good to win?”

“It feels good to know that he won’t be a problem anymore.” 

“I wish I could have been there….” Draco sighed again, his eyes glazed over with a wistful vindictiveness.

“I invited you,” Harry reminded him. “I told you to come to the meeting.”

“If I did that, my dramatic exit from his office was going to become a moot point. You can’t just ruin a dramatic exit for the sake of a little entertainment. Besides,” Draco said with a hint of pride in his voice, “it sounds like you didn’t need me there.”

“I needed you for everything else.”

“You wouldn’t have been in danger of losing your job if it weren’t for me.”

Harry tucked an errant strand of blond hair behind Draco’s ear and smiled. “I wouldn’t be in a lot of positions if it weren’t for you.”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re trying to go for the sexual innuendo or something sweet with that one.”

“Just go with whatever will end in sex.”

“Don’t worry,” Draco said reassuringly. He raised his body so that he was staring down at Harry. “You just became one of the most powerful men in the business world. You could be wearing a plaid chartreuse shirt right now and I would still fuck you.” He justified his claim effectively, meeting Harry’s lips with the fiery heat of his own. Harry slipped his tongue through open lips eagerly, wanting to taste Draco with a need that seemed only to grow with time.

Draco’s hips were already grinding against his, a litany of groans escaping the both of them as they sought the lust-driven rhythm that synchronized their desires into something more palpable than the abstract notion of want. Harry tasted the skin along Draco’s neck, biting into the groove where the neck tapered into shoulder as Draco gasped and dug his nails into the skin of Harry’s abdomen. 

They scrambled to undress, taking turns with their own shirts and then the others’ as they agonized over how long it was taking. They had made it to the floor at some point during all this, something about being unable to take off their pants quickly enough while on the small confines of the couch. Their knees scraped along the carpet while they gripped tightly together, Draco’s body rising as he trapped Harry’s back against the couch. Harry stared up at him, captivated at how soft skin caught the light, illuminating the lines of muscle that traced Draco’s body and framed the swollen flesh of his erection. 

Sinking lower, Harry spat into his hand and began to run it down the shaft of Draco’s cock. Draco’s eyes closed at the first touch, and there was a hitch in his breath that made Harry’s heart beat faster. One of Draco’s hands was resting on Harry’s shoulder, a touch that silently demanded for Harry to keep going. Harry was more than happy to oblige. He traced his thumb across the head before lowering himself to follow the path his thumb had taken with a flick of his tongue. He continued stroking, teasing Draco as his tongue swept lightly around the firm dick. Draco fell forward, grabbing onto the couch cushions behind Harry’s head as his hips bucked forward and he entered deeper into Harry’s mouth.

Harry grabbed the back of Draco’s thigh with his free hand, trying to maintain stability as he tasted every inch of Draco against the back of his throat. He slid his hand further up, running it along Draco’s firm ass and using it as leverage to dictate the rate at which Draco’s hips thrust into his mouth. It was taking a significant effort now to keep going, but Harry didn’t want to stop hearing Draco’s moans. He let go only when the need for air overwhelmed his own desires. 

Draco quickly extricated himself from Harry’s hold, quickly running to Harry’s bedroom to grab a bottle of lube. Harry lay down on the carpet and began to spread himself as he waited for Draco to find the bottle. He pressed his fingers into himself, the image of Draco’s naked body standing above him played in his mind’s eye as he shifted his hips upwards to gain better access. When he slipped in another finger, he heard a loud groan from the hallway. Draco was standing there, staring at Harry with wide, greedy eyes. Draco’s hand wandered to his own cock and began to stroke. Neither of them looked away from each other. Even with several feet of space separating them, it was as if Harry could feel Draco surrounding every inch of him. Harry could hardly tell what was more intoxicating—the sight of Draco touching himself or the feeling of Draco’s eyes on him. 

Draco began to walk slowly towards him, each step paced so as to torture Harry with expectation. He pleaded silently for Draco to hurry up, and then finally began to beg out loud. “Please,” he gasped. “I need you.”

When Draco’s lube-slick cock found his entrance, Harry begged more, finding that every movement that brought them closer only increased the need he felt for completeness. The carpet was rough against his back, but Harry ignored the fibers as he grabbed Draco’s shoulders. Draco had pressed Harry’s legs back, angling Harry’s hips so that he could thrust harder and harder. The friction of Draco inside of him was almost too much—a satisfaction of so many desires that persisted even as Harry felt the storm of his orgasm roll through him. Draco’s body was so warm above him, a slick layer of sweat coating Draco’s shoulders as he groaned at the sight of Harry’s cum-covered stomach. Harry pulled Draco down and with his hands weaving their way through the silky strands of Draco’s hair, Harry tied them together with a fiery kiss. More than any other sensation, this was what he needed. This connection as Draco shuddered into his lips and collapsed after the force of his own orgasm had taken over. Whatever they did, this intimacy would matter most because this was Draco. This was him. 

This was them.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry tugged anxiously at the ends of his sleeves, smoothing his hands over imagined wrinkles and scanning his shirt for any stains. It was a procedure he had started repeating every five minutes, like some kind of ritual to ward off the evil tux gremlins.

A sharp slap hit his hand, and he jumped back in shock. "Stop it, Harry, you look fine," Hermione scolded.

"Keep at it and you're just going to spoil the suit," Ron added, though his voice was muffled with effort. He was fumbling to help Harry with his bow tie, a task that had proved too challenging for Harry's shaking hands. "Damn, putting these things on is so much easier when you're not putting it on other people."

Hermione sighed impatiently as Ron managed to drop the tie for the third time. "Oh, just let me do it," she said shrilly.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Ron asked, though he stepped aside willingly and handed her the tie. "Those things can be pretty tricky."

"I spend 13 hours a day dealing with dangerous chemicals and expensive equipment. I think I can handle a scrap of fabric."

"Don't let Draco hear that you called it a scrap," Harry cautioned. "He spent two weeks debating the color. I think he and Narcissa both almost had nervous breakdowns over it."

"Well, it's a lovely color."

"Isn't it just black?" asked Ron, now working his way through a bowl of free candy.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry could see the faint trace of a smile hidden under her disdain for Ron's lack of finesse. "There," she said, adjusting the knot she had tied. "You look great."

"Are you sure?" Harry looked in a mirror to check and felt a strange pang of regret that he lacked his fiance's eye for self-evaluation. Was his hair supposed to look like that? Was his jacket supposed to stop there? How could he possibly know if he looked remotely suitable for a wedding? And not just for any wedding, of course, but his own.

He felt Hermione's warm hands on his back. The dress she was wearing had been selected according to Narcissa's exacting standards, a shade of gold that complemented the deep red of the flower in his boutonniere. "You look great," she said softly, and Harry could tell from her voice that she understood his nerves.

Harry gulped, still not so convinced by his friend's confidence. It was her job to tell him that he looked good, which made her untrustworthy in this situation. "What if Draco doesn't think so?"

"Oh, Harry, you know that's not what's important."

"I know, I know. I just don't want to ruin anything today by, you know, being me."

"The best thing you could do today is be you. That's who Draco wants to marry," Ron interjected. "Even if you showed up out there in ratty jeans and a t-shirt, he'd just be happy that you're there. He'd kill you first, but he'd be happy."

"Narcissa might kill me before he does."

"True. But it'll be a swift and painless murder," Hermione noted. "That's how the Malfoys show affection, right?"

"I think we've passed the 'comforting' stage and headed into something a bit more frightening now."

"Right." Hermione took a few deep breaths. "Okay. Right. Harry."

"Yes?" Harry looked at her anxiously, preparing himself for a lecture on whatever Hermione deemed relevant to the occasion.

"You know what you're going to do, right?" she asked, looking uncharacteristically unsure of what she was supposed to say.

Harry swallowed and nodded slowly. "I..I think so."

"You're going to go out and get married, okay."

"Hermione, is this really necessary?" Ron asked. "I think he knows that he's going to get married."

"I just want to make sure, Ron. Weddings can be difficult."

"Really? Don't you just walk down—" Ron stopped when he saw Harry shaking his head at him, a silent warning that barely got to him in time. Fortunately, Hermione seemed to recover quickly from whatever impromptu lesson she wanted to give Ron about the technicalities inherent to weddings.

Harry glanced down at his watch. A lump formed in his throat as he announced, "I think everything is starting soon." Sure enough, Narcissa came into the room a few seconds later. Despite the fact that everything about her appearance was perfectly in place, she seemed slightly out of breath as she hurriedly rushed Ron and Hermione out of the door and to their places.

She paused for a moment before leavingand smiled at Harry. Walking towards him, she drew him into a hug. "Are you ready?"

"Y-yeah," Harry managed to stammer.

"Well, then, Draco awaits."

XXXXX

Narcissa left as quickly as she came in, barking orders at people in the hallway as Harry took one last glance at himself. He took a few deep breaths, trying to slow the frantic pounding in his chest lest he collapse at the altar before the wedding even finished. Every step he took towards the door seemed to resonate through him, and he wondered how he could feel like he was walking too slowly and too quickly at the same time. And before he even realized that he had left the room, he was at the top of the aisle. The music had faded to the background, the voices of the guests forming a slightly hum that overlaid the notes of the violins. The party began walking forward, and he realized that it had started. The wedding had started. He gulped, anxiously running through everything he was supposed to do in his mind one last, making sure that he knew where to stand and what to say and when to say it and what finger to put the ring on and how they were supposed to walk out.

And then he saw Draco, smiling at him as if he was the only person in the world. Harry took Draco's hand, and an instantaneous calm soothed his frantic nerves. Everything was perfect.

Draco spent the hour before the wedding with Pansy and Blaise, refusing to sit down lest his suit become messy in any way. He couldn't figure out why his mother had insisted that they start getting ready so early—even with his fussiness, this was getting excessive. But his father had advised him to just sit back and let Narcissa run the show, and that seemed to be the most peaceful resolution to the morning. Blaise and Pansy were lying relaxed on a velvet blue couch, with Pansy's feet resting on Blaise's lap as her shoes lay idly on the floor.

"I told you he's nervous," Pansy said suddenly to Blaise, giving Draco an appraising look.

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is," she stated more firmly. "He's shaking his left knee. He only does that when he's nervous." She pointed at Draco's leg, directing Blaise's attention to the tremor Draco had been trying to hide.

"You can't even see his left knee. It's covered up with his pants," Blaise argued, leaning forward as best as he could with Pansy's feet obstructing him.

"His pants are vibrating. Or shaking or whatever. They're moving because his knee is moving. His knee is moving because he's nervous. He's nervous, so now you owe me fifty dollars."

"I have such lovely friends," Draco muttered. "I bet Ron and Hermione aren't betting on Harry's anxiety."

"What's the point of being invested in each other's emotional state if we can't make a profit off it," she retorted cheekily. Draco chuckled, but he still felt a quake of nerves inside his chest that jokes couldn't get rid of. Pansy assessed him again, and her expression looked far more serious. "Really, though. Are you okay? I've never seen you look so antsy."

"I just want everything to be perfect."

"It will be. It's you and Harry. How could it not be perfect?" Pansy's eyes were shining, making her look practically soft by her standards.

"Are you getting emotional on me?"

"Our widdle Draco is all grown up and getting married," Blaise exclaimed. "Of course we're getting fucking emotional. You and Harry have overcome years of hatred and taken over companies together. It's so romantic."

"Romantic like how you're going to as Oliver to dance with you tonight?" Draco teased.

A scowl clouded Blaise's features. "I'm not asking him."

"Blaise, darling," said Pansy with a foreboding air. "Don't make Draco threaten you on his wedding day. He's got enough things to worry about. Just get really drunk so that if anything goes wrong, you can blame it on the alcohol."

"Why would you expect that anything would go wrong?" Blaise demanded defensively. "I'll have you know that I have a very slick game."

"The fact that you call it a 'slick game' tells me all I need to know."

Blaise crossed his arms, looking less like an internationally renowned athlete and more like a cranky child. "I hate you. I hate the both of you."

"Not as much as you hate everyone else in the world," observed Pansy. "That's what makes us such good friends."

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Draco's mother popped her head in the room. She gave Draco a sharp, inspecting look, swept the door open, and walked in without a word. Her eyes narrowed on the pocket square on Draco's chest, and there was silence in the room as she adjusted the square with an exacting minuteness. Then, stepping back, she looked over at Draco and, as if processing for the first time just where she was, her eyes began to water. She touched her hand to Draco's cheek and said with a matching tenderness, "You look so grown-up. So handsome."

Draco smiled and put his hand over his mother's. For a brief moment, he felt the shaking in his knee stop. A clock struck from somewhere in the distance though, and the rush of everything else that was going on came back.

"I have to get everybody ready," Narcissa said, taking on the air of a general marching into war. "You two," she pointed at Pansy and Blaise, "you know where you're supposed to be."

"Yes, ma'am," Blaise replied.

"Then hurry up and get there," she commanded before exiting the room to gather everyone else.

Pansy stood up and slipped into her shoes. She walked over to Draco and gave him a small hug, careful to avoid wrinkling his jacket. "I'm really happy for you. Jealous, but happy." She lightly tapped a finger against her tear ducts. "Dammit," she laughed as she stepped back, "if you make me feel any happier, my make-up is going to smudge."

Blaise stepped forward and held out his hand. "Good luck out there."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Blaise," interrupted Pansy. "It's a wedding, not a game."

"It's okay, Pansy," Draco reassured her as he and Blaise clapped each other on the shoulders in an abbreviated hug, "I could use all the luck I can get."

After they had left, Draco took a few seconds to hold his left knee down with his hand, trying to steady it before he headed out. There was a sound of people getting put into their places by his mother's strict orders, and Draco stood towards the back as he watched the processional begin their walk.

And then he saw Harry, and that's all there was. His hair, despite what were likely valiant efforts, was still a slight mess. And the bow tie was off at the tiniest of angles, indicating that someone else had tied it for him. But he looked so…Harry. And when he smiled at Draco, he looked so perfect.

"Are you nervous?" Harry whispered, their hands held together as they looked down the aisle. Rows and rows of guests had just stood up and were now staring at them, awaiting their entrance.

Draco just looked at Harry again and tightened his grip. "Not anymore."

XXXXX

In the future, when Harry looked back on the wedding, he would find that the ceremony was largely a blur. There was music and colorful dresses and people staring at him, but they all seemed to meld together into a muted mass that formed a backdrop to the day's events. The one thing he would remember clearly—the one thing he would never be able to forget—was the feeling of Draco's hand in his as they walked down the aisle. He would never be able to recollect the words the officiant said to them, and even though he would never admit it to Draco, he had a hard time recalling what he had recited in their vows. But if you asked him, he would be able to describe the exact way the lines of Draco's palms criss-crossed against his own, the way each finger laced between the others as Draco's thumb rubbed comfortingly against the top of Harry's hand. This was the part of the wedding that would stick forever with Harry.

As they walked down the aisle, a series of images played out in his head—memories of times when he and Draco hadn't liked each other. Times when they had taunted each other, tortured each other, wanted nothing to do with each other. And Harry smiled. These memories were remnants of a youth he had grown out of, a childish set of provocations and reactions that had become less and less important as he thought of the comfort and security he and Draco had built with each other. After all, any hatred they had felt was only the beginning of the story. And a beginning means nothing until there's a middle and end to give it meaning.

At the altar, Draco looked out to the crowd and then back so Harry could see the smile growing on his face. It seemed cliche, but Draco's skin glowed with a beaming shine of pride and happiness. Harry slipped his free into Draco's other hand, feeling self-conscious as he became aware of the audience that watched. He glanced towards the side and saw Hermione flash him a quick, encouraging smile. His throat constricted as he looked back at Draco, whose eyes glowed with emotions Harry usually only saw away from crowds. It was overwhelming to see Draco—his sarcastic, biting, private Draco—seem so relatively unrestrained in public.

Harry had heard a quote once, probably in high school though he couldn't be sure, from a poem or a story that he couldn't quite remember. He would have to ask Draco about it later.

 _The journey is the thing_.

He'd never really made much of the line before, but as he turned to face Draco at the altar, it seemed that he finally understood the words. The journey was the thing, is the thing, would always be the thing. And the journey was worth taking because he was taking it with Draco.

"Lades and gentlemen," the officiant began, "we are here to celebrate the marriage of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter."

XXXXX

Draco felt that his mother had really outdone herself for the reception. Most people would consider three ice sculpture and five chocolate fountains to be a bit excessive, but the Malfoys were not most people. And his mother was exceptionally talented at taking what would otherwise be a tacky display of wealth and somehow making it appear tasteful. All in all, it felt like a wonderful end to months of stress. The guests were chattering, buzzed on the combination of good food and wine. And the exhaustion of picking colors and flowers and food seemed to be fading away now, almost forgotten as Draco sat at the head table, his hand still wrapped in Harry's.

There was a high pitched tapping coming from next to him, and Draco realized that his father was trying to get everyone's attention for a toast. The conversation throughout the ballroom continued, but people slowly realized that Malfoy Sr. was demanding their attention, and an anticipatory silence began to pervade the room.

His father coughed, clearing his throat before starting. "Hello everyone. Narcissa and I are so happy you could all be here to celebrate with us." He smiled down at Narcissa. Draco wasn't sure, but there seemed to be a mutual acknowledgement between the two of them, some kind of understanding that caused them both to smile wider. It was him, Draco thought with sudden clarity. They were happy because of him. "There is plenty of wine and dancing to be had," his father continued, "and I think Narcissa will kill me if I stick with my original five-page toast. I just want to say, Draco," and this time it was Draco's turn to receive the elusive Lucius Malfoy smile. His father paused, and a series of emotions washed across his face. Of all the ways that Draco had seen his father, emotional was not the most common.

"Draco, I know that we haven't always seen eye to eye, but when I look at what you've made for yourself, the person you've become, I'm amazed. Your mother and I are both amazed." He clapped Draco on the shoulder, and Draco felt the warmth of his father's sincerity tun through him. "And Harry," he said, shifting his glance past Draco, "we've been fortunate to watch you grow up to become someone with integrity and enormous generosity. We are so happy to have you become a part of our family and to see what the future brings for you both." He raised his glass. "To Draco and Harry."

The rest of the room raised their glasses, and there was the clink of glasses as tables made their toast.

The rest of the evening passed in a whirlwind of music and dancing. Harry had acquitted himself nicely in the first dance, despite admitting that he was nervous to have everyone watching him so closely. There was some kind of euphoria in the whole night that made it difficult for Draco to keep track of everything that was going on. Whether it was the wine or the happiness of celebrating with Harry, Draco couldn't really be sure. He did remember shooting Blaise a wink when he saw him dancing with Oliver. Blaise had returned the wink with a nasty look that fell short of actual anger as Oliver grabbed his hand and spun him around.

"It's kind of gross though," Draco said later. He was sitting with Harry at the head table with his head rested on Harry's shoulder. "Isn't it?"

"Huh?"

"Everyone's all coupled up...and happy," he explained, feeling like perhaps he was being a bit childish about the various pairings forming on the dance floor. "It's just so convenient."

Harry snorted. "Not everything has to end in misery you know."

"No, but it's always more exciting when it does."

"Well, it looks like Hermione and Ron are bickering," Harry pointed out, nodding his chin in the direction of the squabbling couple."

"Ooh," Draco replied excitedly. He raised his head to see Hermione glaring at a cowering Ron. "What do you think he did this time?"

"I assume that it has something to do with all the cake in her hair."

"Oh, that's no fun. They're probably going to end up having bathroom sex while Ron pretends to clean her hair."

"Don't pout," Harry said, lightly kissing Draco's cheek. "We have at least five minutes of Ron fearing for his life before that happens."

"I think you just gave me the best wedding gift of the night. And they say romance is dead."

" _You_  say romance is dead."

"True, but today's my wedding day," Draco argued haughtily. "I'm allowed to get a little sappy. Just don't tell anyone please."

Harry grinned back. "I'm too overcome with surprise and emotion. I never thought I'd see the day when Draco Malfoy would be sappy."

"Maybe we should get married some more."

Whatever happiness had appeared on Harry's face was now a distinct look of fear that Draco had been serious. "Draco, I love you, but one of these things was enough."

"Cheers to that," Draco reassured him as he watched his mother scold a waiter for a small scuff on his shoe.

A distinct set of staccato notes sounded from the speakers, and Draco could see Harry's face begin to pale as he recognized the melody. "No, no. You didn't," Harry pleaded. "You can't make me. I'm a grown man."

"You're also my husband now. So go on, Macarena Boy." Draco grinned sadistically at Harry's desperation. "You've got a dance to do."

XXXXX

Hours later, Draco opened the doors to their suite and stumbled in, hiccuping as he grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, his broad chest pressing warmly against Draco's back. "Did you just hiccup?" he said slyly into Draco's ear.

"My diaphragm spasmed," Draco said, turning around so he could sink his head onto Harry's shoulder. "That's all."

"Isn't that the same thing as hiccuping?"

"Yes, but it sounds less undignified. And speaking of undignified," Draco added, "I enjoyed your Macarena, as did our guests. I've never seen that dance earn a standing ovation before."

Harry groaned, but the corners of his lips were turned up in amusement. "I was really hoping you were going to forget to make that happen."

"I did. But Fleur's little sister emailed me last week to make sure that I remembered." Draco adjusted his weight, but somehow lost his balance and stumbled sideways out of Harry's hold. Luckily, there was a couch behind him, and he quickly grabbed ahold of it.

When he managed to steady himself, he realized that Harry was laughing. "Are you tipsy?" he asked when Draco managed to regain his composure.

"I'm tipsy on your love." Draco drew the words out, trying to sound grandiose. When Harry responded to the display with an eyebrow raised in amused skepticism, Draco acquiesced. "And expensive champagne." Without thinking, he stretched out a hand to undo Harry's tie, which was starting to hang loosely from the collar. The silk slipped through his fingers and landed softly between their feet. Harry took Draco's wrist, lifting it to his lips so he could brush against Draco's pulse. It was a soft flutter that translated into a much more pronounced response in Draco. Surely Harry could taste the feeling of his pulse, pounding harder with anticipation.

"Come on," Harry said, idly turning the silver band around Draco's ring finger. "Let's get to bed before we realize how tired we are."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Do you need me to explain it to you?" Harry pressed his lips to the base of Draco's neck, his teeth grazing lightly against skin.

Draco arched his neck and groaned, savoring the slow, sensual swirl of Harry's tongue around the bite. "You might need to work harder to make sure I really get it," he replied coyly, sliding Harry's jacket off his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. Harry's hands were pressed insistently at his waist, resting where the curve gave way to his hips. Draco slid his hands down, feeling the pounding of Harry's heart against his palm. Harry's shirt was soft against his fingers, leaving an imprint of his warm chest against Draco's fingertips.

He wanted to memorize every feeling of this moment. Draco knew it was silly; there would be years of Harry to come after all. But there was something about this that seemed. The past few months had felt unreal, and there were mornings where he woke up with Harry and felt like he was still dreaming. But every inch of Harry against him was undeniable today. The way Harry had looked at him during the ceremony, their arms interlocked as they danced, the whole night—all of that was real, and Draco felt himself sinking into the comforting awareness that this was all happening to him.

Draco traced Harry's bottom lip with his thumb, his other fingers resting lightly against Harry's cheek. Harry sighed and closed his eyes, and Draco felt their bodies relax against each other. He began stumbling backwards, forcing Harry to open his eyes so he could navigate Draco towards the bedroom. It wasn't the most graceful path, but Draco couldn't be concerned with the small skip in his step as he bumped into a lamp or the moment when Harry cussed into his mouth after stubbing his toe against a grand wooden desk. Any momentary pain in their hazardous path was secondary to the more important task of their lips and tongues battling, tertiary even as they became embroiled in the process of trying to remove their clothing through jerky, graceless movements.

Harry finally maneuvered them through the doors leading to the bedroom. There was a large bed in the middle of the room, decked in luxurious fabrics and magnificent pillows. But Draco couldn't be bothered to take in the sight of what an excessively decorated suite entailed. He didn't even know that the bed had columns until Harry had pressed him up against one and Draco felt the wood digging exquisitely into his back. Harry's tongue was tracing a hot, tantalizing pattern around his earlobe, sending a desperate wave of heat through Draco's body. But before he could respond, Harry had taken Draco's hands and pinned them above his head, tracing a finger down Draco's chest with a light, teasing pressure. He circled the finger around the base of Draco's thickening cock, his teeth still toying with Draco's earlobe.

Draco gasped, finding it harder to breathe as Harry teased two fingers around his length. For a second, it felt like the air in his chest had gone still, his body overwhelmed as it processed the actions of Harry's lips and fingers. He moved his hips into Harry's grasp, letting out a low moan as they picked up speed. Harry grabbed Draco's lips in a hot, desperate kiss, and Draco could taste Harry's need, could feel it in the tightening grip around his wrists, until finally Harry pulled away.

He pulled Draco towards the bed, tearing off their remaining clothes with little thought for the garments that had been chosen with such care. Their arms wound tightly around each other as they crashed into the mattress, legs entangled as they tumbled through the blanket. It felt like they would never get enough of this, of this embrace, of each other. Draco could feel the cold band of Harry's wedding ring against his back, imprinting a small spot a few inches from his spine, until it slowly became a part of every other touch that was igniting his body. He pushed and pulled greedily at Harry, trying to anchor himself in that hard warmth of their bodies against each other, and then lowered his head to taste the small bead of sweat forming along Harry's neck. Harry raised his body compliantly, letting Draco explore his chest with a combination of tongue and fingertips. The taut muscle along Harry's abdomen tightened at his touch, and as Draco brushed across a nipple, the entirety of Harry's body shook next to him.

With a sudden movement, Harry turned Draco over and roughly pulled his hips back. There was a faint clicking sound behind him as Harry opened the bottle of lubricant. Draco felt a slick insistent touch enter him, and he grabbed onto the blanket below in an effort to regain some balance as Harry's fingers began to press harder and faster. Harry's free hand was holding on to one of Draco's shoulders, forcing him further against the mattress. This was the sort of feeling he trusted only Harry with, to feel so unguarded and exposed that he could be left an uncouth mass of inarticulate groans and desire. Harry leaned forward, leaving light kisses at the base of Draco's neck as his bare thighs scraped along the back of Draco's legs. Draco shuddered when Harry's lips reached a particularly sensitive spot, unable to control the waves that shook his body.

He leaned his head back, trying to catch Harry's lips in a sloppy kiss but failing as each second left him moaning. He could hear Harry's ragged breath behind him, coming in short, hot gasps as he spread his fingers inside Draco. Finally, Harry released him, pulling back to poise his erection at Draco's entrance. His cock slid in, inch by slow inch, filling Draco with anticipation and need. Draco began to rock his body gently back in a slow circle, intoxicated with the sound of Harry moaning as Draco's ass pushed back on Harry's cock and brushed against the firmness of Harry's body.

Harry began to grind his hips forward, his hands holding firmly onto Draco's hips until they were at a pace where he could pull Draco back into him with each thrust. There was a thin layer of sweat coating Draco's body as he worked to keep up, trying to meet the demands relayed by Harry's hands. He felt Harry begin to shake behind him, a shudder in his thighs that followed each thrust and echoed through Draco's body. Harry was close; they both were. Draco pulled away, and turned his back to the mattress. Harry stared at him with hazy confusion until Draco settled back and spread his legs. Quickly, apparently desperate to not go without Draco for too long, Harry entered him again, his hands pushing Draco's legs back as he thrust with increasing abandon.

Draco ran his hands through Harry's hair, keeping his eyes opened so he could see the final climax of pleasure course through Harry's expression. His green eyes were so much more vivid than normal, encompassing an overwhelming range of desire and love as he stared back at Draco and kissed him lightly through their final shudders. Their kisses were short and sweet now, the both of them too tired for any extended display of passion.

Harry collapsed in Draco's arms, his hair tickling the bottom of Draco's chin. He let out a heavy sigh and then kissed Draco's cheek. "You know I love you, right?" he said very seriously.

Draco grinned lazily. "You've only said it like twenty times in the past five hours."

"I like saying it," Harry replied, looking quite content with himself. "I like saying it to you."

Draco didn't realize that he still had the physical energy to feel giddy, but apparently Harry had a way of tapping into whatever reserve was left. "I love you too," he said and then kissed Harry on the forehead. He closed his eyes, and felt a first wave of fatigue try and fail to overcome the residual excitement. "Harry?" he asked, staring above him and realizing for the first time that the bed had a canopy.

"Hmmm?"

"Do you think we're really going to be able to do this? This whole marriage thing?"

It was a testament to what they had built their relationship from that Draco could express a question about their marriage on their wedding day without sounding like he truly questioned their relationship. Harry looked at him with understanding, and smiled. "You know, despite my better instincts, I'm starting to feel like I wouldn't be able to do this with anyone but you."

Draco relaxed into the bed, mulling over Harry's answer. "Yeah," he said, pulling Harry in closer. "Me too."

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I've always seen the quote, "The journey is the thing," attributed to Homer (presumably from a translation of the Odyssey). I've had a hard time finding the actual translation this comes from, so if anyone knows, please let me know so I can credit properly.
> 
> Anyway. Gah! I know I'm not the first person to ever finish a fanfic, and this isn't even the first fanfic I've ever finished working on. But it's the first story I really started writing, and I am both excited and sad that it's done. I've had a few ideas for side-stories (okay, fine, really just an Oliver/Blaise story), but if that happens, it probably won't be for a while. As it stands, I really want to thank you all for reading this story. I know many of you left reviews or recced this fic to friends, and I want to issue a public thanks for taking the time to do that. I learned a lot from writing this story, and I really owe you all for encouraging me and critiquing my writing.


	21. A Christmas Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I’ve gotten requests for epilogues and continuations to Synthetic Bonds, and it’s one of those things that I’ve wanted to do but have never known what to write. But this year has been one extended writing funk, and two days ago, I finally forced myself to wonder what Harry and Draco’s first Christmas would be like. The result is a tiny bit of Christmas fluff. I know this is kind of almost too late to really count as a Christmas story, but as Harry says somewhere in here, it’s still Christmas somewhere (well, only for a few more hours).
> 
> Also, huge apologies to any chemists out there. Every reference to chemistry in here is me frantically trying to remember what little chemistry I learned or trying to fit how I do lab work with how I imagine chemists do lab work. It’s probably not a very accurate view. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this, inaccurate chemistry aside. And thanks for all the wonderful comments and recs and kudos/favorites! For those of you who are reading the Blaise/Oliver side story, I promise that I haven’t abandoned it, and we will return to them soon!

10:00 AM

Draco was resting his chin on the workbench. The only sound in the lab was his work, brewing directly in front of him. He probably shouldn’t have his eyes level with the bubbling reaction taking place only one inch away from him, but he was a grad student, damnit--he lived life on the edge.  

“You could just take a break, you know,” came Hermione’s voice from the end of his bench. The sound of something not related to science shook Draco out of his reverie. “You’ve already been here since five, and you’ve probably got fifteen minutes until the next step.”

Draco rested his head back down on the bench. “I know, but I want to make sure I can get that step started as soon as possible.”

“Why are you even here? I thought you did this stuff last week specifically so you wouldn’t have to come in on Christmas.”

“I did. But that undergrad who claims to be working for me is apparently part of some giant conspiracy to deplete my life of all happiness.” Draco looked at Hermione, but she didn’t seem to follow his conspiracy theory explanation. “He accidentally dumped all my samples down the drain three days ago.”

“I’m sure he’s not in on some giant conspiracy to deplete your life of all happiness.”

Draco glared at her. “It’s Christmas, Hermione. I should be at home my husband right now, but if I don’t take care of this today, I won’t have data in time for my next group meeting presentation. Meanwhile, Mr. Undergrad is off on some tropical paradise--”

“You mean his home? In Maine? Hardly seems tropical to me.”

“The point is that I’m the one who has to stay in lab all day on Christmas instead of being at home getting fucked in front of a fireplace.”

“You don’t have a fireplace.”

“I’ve been here for five hours. I can have a hypothetical fireplace to get fucked in front of if I want to.”

“So Harry knows you’ll be in lab all day?”

Draco’s upper body tensed at the question. “I told him I’ll be home by six.”

Hermione bit her lip. It looked like she was struggling to reign in her skepticism. “You know you’ll only be home by six if absolutely everything goes the way it should, right?”

Yes, Draco did know that. And every time he thought on that fact, a little knot formed in his stomach. At this point, he wasn’t sure there was space for any new knots to form. Today was supposed to be important. He and Harry had both been looking forward to sharing their first Christmas together as a married couple, but they had been so busy that they’d barely been able to spend any time together. They had set aside a weekend to put up the tree, but then Harry got stuck in a meeting in London, so Draco did it himself. That small tree and its modest ornamentation was the only evidence of holiday cheer in their apartment.

Draco would rather die than admit any kind of sentimentality over a holiday where he’d once thrown a tantrum over a train set, but he still felt like he owed it to Harry to make today a good day. When Draco had realized that the only way to get his work back on schedule was to go in on Christmas, he’d dreaded telling Harry. And even with all of Harry’s assurances, Draco couldn’t help but feel that he had already ruined Christmas.

So basically, he had to be done by six, and his stomach knots could go fuck off.

“Are you suggesting that I’ll be making a mistake today?” Draco asked the question so sharply that Hermione’s face paled.

“No, no, of course not.”

“Good.” Draco turned his attention back to the beaker in front of him. Adjusting some knobs on the stirrer, he watched the dark blue liquid slowly turn clear. “Don’t you have a boyfriend or a party or something to go home to?”

“Yup,” Hermione said, far more chipper than anyone who was in lab on Christmas should be. “I just wanted to clean my bench and look over my lab notebook, you know. Make sure I have everything written up for the year.”

“You came in on Christmas to check up on your lab notebook? Wait, you know what, never mind. I don’t know why I’m acting like that’s a surprise.”

Hermione smiled sheepishly. “If you need help, I can do something.”

“As much as I would love to make you do all my work,” Draco started, and he paused a moment to wonder how wrong it would really be to keep Hermione away from her plans for the sake of his Christmas. Then he shook his head and continued, “The holidays have a way of inspiring good will and benevolence in even my cold, dark soul.”

“I guess there is such a thing as a Christmas miracle then,” Hermione noted, though she sounded sympathetic.

“Have fun having a life,” Draco said as he waved her away. On his bench, the clear liquid stirred away.

*.*.*.*

12:00 PM

Draco was almost surprised that it took two more hours for the first crucial error to occur. It wasn’t his fault, mind you. No, some enterprising asshole had mislabeled the water, and Draco’s solution was now much more dilute than it was supposed to be.

Fortunately, it was a quick fix. All he had to do was quickly rescue that little batch of sample left at the bottom of his beaker. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

*.*.*.*

1:00 PM

Crucial mistake number two was a bit harder to deal with. Apparently, basic arithmetic was also part of the giant conspiracy to ruin Draco’s happiness. And the problem with basic arithmetic was that even if one was to say, forget how to double the volume of sodium hydroxide stated in a protocol, even a minor error could become a serious, “this solution is not supposed to bubble and turn magenta” kind of issue.

By the time Draco managed to control the bubbling and return the solution to its expected color, he was thirty minutes behind schedule.

*.*.*.*

2:00 PM

That thirty minutes became a full hour when he realized the lab had run out of seals, and he had to run from floor to floor to find some other unfortunate soul working on Christmas who could give him one.

*.*.*.*

3:00 PM

A full hour became two hours when it became apparent that whoever was supposed to clean glassware had failed to do their job that week, and Draco was forced to sift through a pile of dirty beakers to find the ones he needed and then clean them out.

*.*.*.*

5:30 PM

By the time it was 5:30, Draco had given up altogether on the notion of making it home by six. During a short break, he made a call to Harry that coupled long-winded explanations of everything that had gone wrong so far interspersed with apologies and promises that the next step would only take twenty minutes.

“Don’t worry,” Harry assured him. “Just get home when you can. I’ll make sure dinner is taken care of.”

*.*.*.*

6:00 PM

The step that was supposed to take twenty minutes had decided to take an additional fifty minutes to complete. The solution dripped slowly, as if to punctuate beats that said, “Fuck. You. Fuck. You.” Fortunately, there was no one around to hear Draco’s litany of curses in response.

*.*.*.*

8:00 PM

Draco was now resorting to cursing in as many foreign languages as he could. There was no appropriate emoticon to convey his feelings via text, so he sent Harry a message that combined German, Russian, and Portugese.

*.*.*.*

9:00 PM:

“Hope the science is going well!”

Draco could kill Harry for being so optimistic.

*.*.*.*

10:00 PM:

The end was in sight.

****

10:30PM

The end was no longer in sight. Apparently, Harry’s optimism was infectious and inspired delusions of accomplishment.

*.*.*.*

11:00 PM

Things were just getting sloppy at this point. Mistakes were happening left and right, but Draco’s ability to care was almost zero. He’d called Harry at least three times over the past hour, each time promising that he would be done in ten minutes. He had been in lab for sixteen hours, and all he’d eaten was a microwaveable burrito and two Pop Tarts. Harry had mentioned that dinner was ready--probably ordered from their favorite Thai restaurant. The thought made Draco think of a table stocked with fried appetizers, curry, and noodles. He could swear he could smell the spices until he realized that he was actually just smelling flaming lab equipment.

*.*.*.*

12:00 AM

A mound of purple crystal was sitting on his bench. Draco was done, and no one could tell him differently.

He wiped down his bench and swept aside the dirty equipment, slowing down just enough to make sure nothing broke. Now that the end was actually in sight, Draco’s willingness to make mistakes had gone down tremendously. His stomach was growling, and worst of all, he knew Harry had to have gone to bed by now. He’d called Harry to let him know that he was finally done, but no one picked up the phone.

Well, he told himself in an admission of defeat, there would always be other Christmases.

*.*.*.*

12:30 AM

Draco had just barely missed the previous bus. At this point, he was resigned to the set-back. When he’d left in a hurry at 4:30 that morning, it hadn’t occurred to him to wear a hat or gloves, so now he was shivering on a cold bench. He had about fifteen minutes until the next bus, but he decided it was best not to risk missing it, even if that meant sitting outside in the cold. He sent one last text to Harry to let him know he would be getting on the next bus. Then, clasping his hands between his legs, he watched his breath form clouds in the air. Draco’s head tilted forward, and he closed his eyes, giving in to an overwhelming urge to rest. Just a second of rest before his mind returned to counting all the ways he could have made it home just a few hours earlier--if only he hadn’t made those mistakes.

The emptiness of his surroundings was periodically interrupted by the sound of cars speeding through slush. In his state of half-sleep, he didn’t quite process that one of those cars had slowed down to a stop before him.

“Draco.”

He must have entered some kind of dream state where Harry’s voice was serving as the manifestation of Draco’s conscience--laden with guilt for this whole Christmas debacle.

“Shut up, Guilty Conscience Harry,” Draco mumbled to the distant voice, “I’m trying to sleep.”

He heard the sound of a car door opening, then closing. Then someone was poking him repeatedly--frustratingly--on the shoulder. Draco tried swatting the hand away, but the finger kept poking him.

“Draco, it’s me,” the poking finger said. “I got your message. Let me take you home.”

“Fingers don’t have voices,” Draco protested.

“You really have been working too long,” the voice said gently. A kiss brushed along Draco’s cheek, followed by a warm hand. “Come on, it’s me, Harry.”

Draco leaned into the palm of Harry’s hand and looked up. The bright green eyes were staring back at them, and they seemed filled with a paradoxical sense of worry and amusement. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

*.*.*.*

12:45 AM

Draco wasn’t sure how Harry had gotten him home, let alone into the car, but he was sure that he’d called Harry his knight in shining armor at least seven times. He would never hear the end of that. Draco stumbled up the stairs, and when they were standing outside the door to their apartment, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes while Harry unlocked the door.

As soon as he passed through the door, Draco’s exhaustion was temporarily forgotten at the sight in front of him. The first thing he noticed was the smell: the sort of cinnamon and pine scent that felt warm. As his eyes adjusted, he realized that the meager decorations on the tree were now surrounded by a hodgepodge of ornaments that Draco hadn’t seen before. Little carousel horses and angels and bows adorned the branches, interspersed with little flickering lights and paper garlands. There were lights strung up around the rest of the apartment too, along with garlands of holly and thin branches that came from manufactured golden trees. Unlit candles were sprinkled around the living room, along with little glittery snowflakes and at least fifty different types of Santa figurines. There were even a few poinsettias on various settings and a wreath above the door.

The apartment looked like Christmas had vomited on it, and Draco loved it.

He turned to Harry. “You did all this today?”

“I was just going to do the wreath,” Harry explained, “but then you ran late, so I thought I’d put up some garlands. And then you were going to run even more late, so I decided to get a few more things.”

“It looks like you bought out every Christmas left in any store that was still open.”

“I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I thought I would get everything,” Harry said sheepishly. “I know your parents usually go all out with the decorations.”

“You mean they go all out with paying people to put up decorations,” Draco clarified softly, his attention diverted by the flickering red light on a little ornament reindeer’s nose.

“Sure. I mean, I’ve never really put up decorations before,” Harry started speaking faster, “and I wanted to do it right for you, but I haven’t had any time and I thought today would be my last chance to get it right this year--”

Draco cut him off with a soft kiss and wrapped his arms around Harry. It wasn’t until he felt Harry’s shoulders relax that he realized that Harry had been nervous. “It’s perfect.” He looked at the objects on the living room table. “Is that a Santa cookie holder?”

“You should look inside.”

Draco walked to the coffee table and skeptically scanned the rotund red object. He lightly lifted Santa’s hat and peered inside.

“Cookies!” Draco eagerly grabbed one and happily ate it.

“If you’re hungry, I also made dinner.” Harry pointed to the kitchen, where there was an array of food had somehow escaped Draco’s attention earlier. “We might need to reheat some of the things though.”

“I can’t believe you did all this,” Draco sighed as he walked over to the kitchen, taking in the aroma of herbs and spices. “You’re like a Christmas miracle.”

*.*.*.*

1:00AM

“So, you liked it, huh?” Harry smiled at Draco’s empty plate, which has been laden with huge helpings of food just minutes before. A piano playing Christmas carols sounded softly in the background, intermittently interrupted by the loud rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock” carried out by a dancing snowman.

Draco nodded as he finished swallowing the last bit of pie. “Who knew you’d make such a good homemaker?”

“Maybe you should get me a frilly apron for Christmas.” Harry winked, which had the immediate effect of making Draco wonder what Harry would look like wearing just a little lacy apron. It was a more intriguing image than he’d expected.

“I didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Draco started coyly, “but I did get you a French maid uniform.”

“No, you didn’t,” Harry replied, his voice wavering between worry and interest. “Did you?”

“Oh no, of course not.” Draco threw in a reciprocatory wink. “I figured that would be more of a Valentine’s Day gift.”

Harry leaned across the table, claiming Draco’s lips in a warm kiss that brought a flush to both their cheeks. “I’m looking forward to it.”

*.*.*.*

1:15 AM

The bed felt even more amazing than usual. Draco hadn’t even realized how tired his feet had gotten from standing all day until he stretched the length of the mattress. He wrapped an arm around Harry.

“I’m sorry I was working all day.”

“It’s okay.” Harry kissed Draco’s forehead and hugged him tighter. “I couldn’t help you put up the tree, so at least I got to make that up to you.”

Draco nuzzled the crook of Harry’s neck, enjoying the warmth that was so particular to the way Harry’s body curved around him. “You more than made up for it. I wish I could’ve helped you with everything today. And you know, not missed all of Christmas.”

“It’s Christmas still somewhere in the world,” Harry noted. “You were just operating in a different time zone.”

The excuse pleased Draco, not because it really fixed the way the day went, but because it was nice for Harry to pretend that it did. “We didn’t actually open our gifts,” he realized.

“No, we didn’t.”

“You peeked, didn’t you?” Draco accused.

“Maybe.” Then a moment later, “So did you.”

“Of course.”

Harry laughed, and the sound faded away into a silence that was filled with a calm that promised rest. As the comfort of sleep overtook him, Draco felt Harry’s lips against his forehead and heard somewhere, “Merry Christmas, Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of smut, but maybe one day we’ll find out if Draco really did give Harry that French maid uniform for Valentine’s Day ;-)
> 
> And with that, happy holidays and happy new year!


End file.
